


It's Tough Being a Hero

by Kryzanna



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fable AU, Friends to Lovers, Hero AU, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, There's magic and sword fights, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryzanna/pseuds/Kryzanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a Hero is a serious job. Well, sometimes.</p><p>They go on journeys, they go on quests. They fight, they protect; they fall in love. And sometimes that last one is the biggest adventure of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homestead

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Yes, you read the tags correctly; "Fable AU". I've been playing Fable: The Lost Chapters recently, and it's got me in the mood for an alternate universe! I'm hoping for this to be a series of oneshots of our Heroes and their quests, encounters and daily lives. Hopefully things will make sense even if you're not familiar with the game, and if you HAVE played the game, I do apologise for inconsistencies. 
> 
> That being said; please enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroko no Basket or Fable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always nice to come home, regardless of whether there's anyone waiting for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the chapters tend to jump around in terms of timeline, for reference, this chapter is currently considered to be the "Present"; where Kuroko and friends are around 24 years old.

The lights of the Barrow Fields were a sight that would never get old. Their soft, welcoming glimmer in the distance was enough to warm even the weariest traveller; reassuring them that the forest was behind them and the safety of home ahead. Here, the grass grew green and soft, and birds and men sang without fear, and for the first time in what felt like far too many days, Kuroko Tetsuya allowed himself to relax. Here, the wind smelled fresh and clean, and the merry laughter that it carried so invitingly through the night made him smile as he ventured on.

Even at this time of twilight the marketplace was filled with torchlight, and bustling with busy traders, and bards seeking some quick gold for their songs. All manner of adventurers, too, were gathered around campfires; exchanging goods and tales and drinking until whatever misfortunes they had encountered on the road were far behind them. It would have been nice to join them –to sink into a shadow by the fireside and hear them gossip and tell of their adventures, and hear the bards sing of heroes in distant places. But although the nights had been long, and despite the weariness weighing down his bones, his heart felt lighter at the promise of home; so close now.

So instead of moving towards the fires, Kuroko’s pale eyes turned towards the distance, where the faintest flickerings of new pinpricks of light were starting to become visible. His eyes softened warmly in the moonlight, and with steps that made no sound in the dirt, he ventured away from the dancing torches to be swallowed up by the shadows. And eventually, the sounds of merriment from the camp began to fade, leaving the night in gentle silence.  

The road was empty, and well-trodden and familiar in the way one knows an old friend. Kuroko let the wind tousle his hood back off his face and drank in the breeze, fresh with the earthy scent of the woods and a briny hint of sea foam.

And lacking the dirty tang of smoke and iron and blood.

After the stone city landscapes and the depths of dark, bloody woods in far-off lands…it was refreshing to return to Oakvale. Unlike the Barrow Fields, which were alive and wakeful through all hours, the township, at this time of night, slept. It was quaint, and quiet, and in the night’s silence, Kuroko could hear the sound of waves rolling upon the beach at their leisure.

All was still in the night. A lone lantern hung outside the tavern; still open for business even though its usual patrons had long since departed for bed. Kuroko paused a moment as he passed the doorway; barely casting a shadow upon its threshold, and his presence going unnoticed by the man tending to the bar. A large scorch mark on the old wooden doorframe caught his eye, and as he ran a hand down the beam with a kind of fondness, he allowed himself a small chuckle.

But there would be another time for nostalgia; the moon was starting its descent and he was long overdue for some rest. Life in the wild –even for a shadow like him –could be dangerous and sleepless, and rife with enemies. And the weight of the blood that stained the clothes in his satchel did not make sleep come easy.

Being a Hero wasn’t exactly always as glamourous as the songs led children to believe.

He followed one of the dirt roads that led through town and beyond; to where there were the beginnings of fields and where the houses could look out over the ocean. Tonight the water was blissfully calm, and paired with the handsome red-gold of Oakvale’s fall; it really did make for a breath-taking sight.

But it was not for the view that he had travelled this far.

The road was windy and uneven –less weathered than the others. Some strangers still passed through this way, of course; traders, bards and herdsmen, and even Heroes, who still remembered the way.

Kuroko remembered.

His legs were aching and his stomach growling, and his clothes and hair had seen better days, but his feet still carried him; strangely nimble despite his blisters –carried him with practiced ease across each bump and dip in the road. His calculating gaze searched the distance; straining against the night.

Along this road, there lay an inn; old, dark oak, and for a long time in disrepair. When Kuroko was younger, he had often passed through this part of the world and seen it standing there; lonely and forgotten; but somehow, in its own way…dignified. It had tirelessly withstood storms and quakes, and each time Kuroko passed it by, he had been stricken by how _patient_ it had always seemed; like it was waiting for something.

It wasn’t until much later; when he was older and he and the other apprentices had departed the Guild for the world, and he came to these parts to find that the inn had been put up for sale, that he realised it was waiting for _someone_ – _anyone_ –to fill its halls with cheer. Someone to call it _home_.

Only when Kuroko could see the outline of the building coming steadily into focus, did he finally allow the weariness from his travels to seep into his bones. Relief washed over him; and his lips softened into a grateful; _tired_ smile.

It looked the same as when he’d left –the same as it had every time he’d left, and every time he’d returned –save that the plants had shed their summer coats. Even the window shutters were still open; it had still been warm when he’d departed. Nowadays, the building’s dark wood was well kept; its old wounds having long since healed; although scorch-marks –not unlike those that stained the tavern’s doorway –marred its porch, and Kuroko had never had the heart to remove them. 

It was reassuring; to return and find not a nail out of place, however at the same time…the thought made his smile dim slightly.

“I’m back,” he whispered quietly to no one in particular; like he always did, to fill this kind of silence –the kind of silence that the building would greet him with; welcoming him back with open arms and empty halls. Midnight would have taken up residence inside; the open shutters inviting it in and ensuring that the beds and trunks in every room wouldn’t be gathering dust. The fireplace in the kitchen would still have fresh coals –the same that he had placed upon the hearth when he departed; in case the winter nights came early. And outside, as it always was, the gate would be unlocked, and the front door would be ajar –an invitation. Ajar, so that any wandering Hero who remembered the way might know that he was welcome.

But it was not uncommon to return to find the house still just waiting patiently –the fireplace unused and the halls quiet and even the grass out front growing on undisturbed. And so Kuroko had grown accustomed to being greeted only by darkness.

The tired sigh that escaped his lips sounded disappointed even to his own ears. At least he was finally back.

And then, even as he began placidly ambling up the path, something bright –flickering in the distance –caught his eye. It was warm, and soft, and inviting, and nothing like the ghost-lights that sometimes haunted these parts. And it was spilling out from the kitchen window, illuminating the creepers clinging to the dark wooden walls.

 _A light_.

Kuroko’s heart leapt into his throat, suddenly feeling lighter, and his steps quickened as he hastened towards the building, dirt and stones scattered under his feet. He could see it now; could see that the front door was wide open, with the porch; scorch-marks and all, lightly bathed in a golden glow, as the darkness gave way to lamplight.

It grew brighter as he drew nearer, and there was a welcoming smile already painting his face as his soft boots padded up the porch steps with urgency. Curious and eager, he approached the doorway, peering in as he adjusted his satchel; an intake of breath ready to call out a soft greeting.

But the kitchen was empty.

Kuroko’s brow sank as he stared around the kitchen in confusion. Apart from the lit lantern sitting on the long table, there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. The coals were still sitting in the fireplace, and there were no signs that any of the crockery had been used.

“Hello?” he called, hesitantly, brushing past the lantern and heading deeper into the house to search for signs of life. The hallway was still dark; none of the candles lining the walls having been lit. The first door he came to was shut, and there was no light peeking out from underneath it. He knocked, tentatively, and pushed it open when he received no answer. It gave way easily, and swung open to reveal an empty room; the bed still neatly made. The next room was the same; and the next. Despite his legs protesting, he quickened his pace, moving through the dark and hopefully peering through every doorway. But with each dark room and empty bed, his hopes began to fall again, with disappointment slowly taking up residence all over again.

By the time he reached the last room, two flights up, he wasn’t rushing any longer, and his voice had grown quieter and sadder. Letting the shadows hide his face, he gripped the strap of his satchel tightly with one hand; the other dejectedly sliding down the frame of the last doorway.

“…I guess they must have already gone,” he murmured as his shoulders slumped; his fatigue returning with renewed vigour. His stomach rumbled.

The floor creaked slightly as he wandered back down the empty passageways to his own room, where he paused to deposit his satchel on the bed, and ignited the candle on his desk with a quick snap of his fingers. He closed the shutters and left it to burn –it brought a welcome cosiness to the room –and as he hung his cloak up on the wall, he heard the front door squeak.

Oh, he’d left that wide open.

Keeping his knife strapped to his belt, he headed back downstairs. Maybe he should get the kitchen hearth burning –he could make some dinner, and it would warm the room, and those bloodstained clothes were getting pretty old anyways –

As he rounded the corner, he froze.

There was a figure already standing at the hearth. A tall one; with blazing red hair and worn leather armour, and a huge cleaver at his back. He was holding a lamp in one hand –not unlike the one sitting on the kitchen table –and an armful of wood in the other. Kuroko’s eyes crinkled fondly at the corners and a relieved, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips.

“Kagami-kun, welcome back.”

At his words the figure baulked in surprise, immediately dropping the wood with an ungodly clamour (although thankfully retaining his grip on the lantern) as he reached for his weapon. Shock and something instinctually aggressive flashed in red eyes as he took up a defensive stance –much to Kuroko’s amusement –but that quickly faded as he assessed the situation and recognised the speaker, lingering in the shadows of the hallway.

“K-Kuroko?” Kagami stammered crossly, dropping from his fighting stance and eyeing his old friend with mild irritation, “How many times have I told you to stop doing that??” Kuroko graced him with a brief smile as he stepped forward, and accepted the grudging shoulder pat he received from Kagami in greeting.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kagami-kun.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I didn’t know you’d be home,” Kagami admitted a little while later, when the fire had been lit and the redhead had prepared a hot meal for the pair of them to share. Kuroko had admit for not the first time that it was a good thing that Heroes had packs of infinite depth, or else Kagami would have starved long ago –how he survived out in the wild with such an appetite was beyond him. “Last I heard, you were out near Brightwall?”

“I did have business in Brightwall,” Kuroko replied cryptically, sipping on his warm milk, “…But that was concluded sooner than I had anticipated.” He looked up to find Kagami looking at him quizzically, eyebrow cocked.

“Lucky you,” he finally shrugged dismissively, taking a long swig on his ale and accompanying it with a giant mouthful of chicken and vegetables. “I just got back from Knothole Glade.” Kuroko looked up curiously.

“ –Wasn’t Kasamatsu-san assigned there?” he queried in interest, and Kagami nodded. “I’d heard that they had a slight Balverine problem,” he added, completely understanding. Kagami rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a snort.

“When _don’t_ they have a Balverine problem?” he muttered, shaking his head incredulously.

“Kasamatsu-san usually handles that by himself, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Kagami replied, mouth full of food, “I was on bandit duty while he went hunting.” He sounded a little disgruntled about the chore, and Kuroko repressed a chuckle; knowing that his friend would have much preferred to be out hunting giant monsters than dealing with bandits. Guard duties tended to make him antsy, and he was proved correct when Kagami added, “I might go take on the Arena again –Tatsuya was saying that they’ve got some really strong monsters around these days, and taking on bandits isn’t much of a challenge...”  

“So you two finally made up?”

“….It’s not like we were _fighting_ ,” Kagami muttered flatly.

“Kagami-kun, you two literally fought each other.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he snorted, “How was I supposed to know that he was helping the bandits abduct traders?” He rolled his eyes, fiddling with the silver ring he wore on a chain around his neck, “But yeah, we’re good now.”

“I’m glad,” Kuroko replied, “…It made Guild meetings very awkward.” From the glare Kagami graced him with, he seemed aware that he was being sassed. “How about the others? Any news from them?” The redhead scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Well, no one’s dead, from what I can tell?” he replied, “I saw Takao in Witchwood, and he’s still hunting down the Archaelologist, and uh, I think Kiyoshi’s been been caught up in the Wraithmarshes…his kid is turning two this spring, right?”

“Yes,” Kuroko informed him, “That must mean that Kise-kun’s eldest will be eight soon.”

“Jeez,” Kagami snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, “I don’t know how he does it. Or keeps track. Or finds the time.” Kuroko looked over at him, face deadpanned.

“Kagami-kun, let us not pretend that you don’t frequent the Bordello…”

“Oi!” Kagami spluttered, “T-that’s not the point! And who says I go to the Bordello?? Everyone knows that Aomine’s the one who –” Kuroko simply gazed at him coolly, not buying his defensiveness in the slightest.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assured him, taking a sip of his drink and chiding, “…Make sure you’re being safe, though.” Kagami grimaced; looking pained.

“Can we not talk about this?” he muttered, finishing off his drink as if to signal that that line of conversation was officially over. Kuroko hid a small smile of amusement. “Oh, uh…speaking of…Aomine…” He trailed off for a moment, “You uhh, heard from him lately?”

“Not since he escaped from jail again,” Kuroko shrugged fondly, with a somewhat exasperated sigh, before adding quite meaningfully, “Momoi-san said that apparently there was quite the misunderstanding…”

“ –It was _his_ fault...Served him right….”

“ –But, knowing Aomine-kun, he’ll be alive and well,” he finished, with a touch of amusement, “So I’m sure there’s no reason to worry.”

“W-Worry??” Kagami scoffed, “Tch, it’s nothing like that! I just… I owe him for our last fight in the Arena and I’m _definitely_ gonna take him down this time –”

“I’ll speak with Midorima-kun tomorrow, and I’ll tell him to let Aomine-kun know that you’re looking for him.”

“Wha – _Kuroko_ , no; that’s not what I said!”

Kagami’s somewhat insistent roar echoed through the walls of the building; filling the silence and chasing away the emptiness. Kuroko couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s expense, his presence making up for that which he himself lacked. The smell of their dinner lingered in the air, and the cheerful crackling of the fireplace seemed to share Kuroko’s mirth. Though they were both tired from their travels, and Kuroko’s limbs were cramping up and demanding a soothing bath, he stayed up, talking until the moon was hanging low in the sky –about what they had seen, and what they had heard.

Kagami had a new trophy to show off –the antlered headdress of a high-ranking bandit henchman. Kuroko had a trophy too, of course –but his was in his room; stowed away amongst the bloodstained clothes that were set for burning in the morning. Kagami didn’t want this one mounted on the wall, he said –claimed it wasn’t impressive enough for that. That made Kuroko’s eyes smile; and made him turn to gaze at the three trophies mounted on the kitchen walls. The first was hanging beside the door to the hallway; the first Arena seal that the pair of them had won; the one where, in the final round, after having endured numerous rounds before it, Kagami, instead of fighting him for the prize, had held out his hand, and together they had hoisted that trophy aloft for all the Arena to see.

“Kagami-kun,” Kuroko added, glancing at the second, which hung above the door. “I believe that hobbe-killing season is almost upon us.” Kagami seemed about to snort that he knew what time of year it damn well was, but then followed Kuroko’s gaze to the hobbe staff mounted upon the wall. “Perhaps this year?”

Kagami looked decidedly put out, and Kuroko was reminded why he kept that old trophy up there despite Aomine’s nagging that it was old and meaningless and not worth displaying. (Funnily enough, his protests had ceased when he’d realised that its presence very much invoked Kagami’s competitive streak.)

“I’ll beat that idiot’s record this year,” he muttered vehemently, “He better turn up for it…”

Kuroko decided not to tell him that Aomine wouldn’t miss it for the world.  

“He’ll be there,” he assured him, instead, and Kagami frowned at him.

“I thought you didn’t know where he was?”

“…For now.”

_He’ll be back sometime soon._

Again, Kagami’s groans resounded through the hallways, obviously not seeing Kuroko’s small smile as he turned to eye the trophy hanging in pride of place above the mantelpiece. It was a collection of gold medals set into a white oak plaque; medals that marked the graduation of an apprentice into a fully-fledged Hero. And Kuroko’s memories flashed before his eyes; memories of this kitchen filled with noise and laughter and people –the rooms ringing with arguments and stories; the bookcase full of hand-written tales, and new trophies proudly being hung wherever there was space.

It didn’t matter where they were right now. The Guild would be able to find them. And Kuroko had learned that if he waited just long enough, some days, he would push open that door and find the Homestead waiting for company no longer. Even if they didn't know it, they remembered the way. And, no matter how far they adventured, they’d come back. They always did.

Eventually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's good to be back to writing! Kind of a different AU but I'm liking it and looking forward to adding to it; so if you like it - wanna see more; leave a comment! 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> xx K


	2. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a time when Aomine was too strong, for someone so young. What he hadn't realised back then was that even when you're the strongest, there will always be someone at your back coveting that title -determined to surpass you and claim it. 
> 
> And that one day, that person would come for him. 
> 
> (Maybe, deep down, he was secretly hoping for it).

Aomine Daiki wondered when victory had started to feel so hollow.

The corpse of a gigantic beast lay behind him; black blood seeping into the dirt – already stained red from the half dozen rounds of gory combat that had preceded it. It caked his clothes, too, but none of it was his.

He was starting to wish that some of it was.

There was nothing quite like the sound of his own heart racing in his ears; his blood on fire and his body running on pure instinct and adrenaline. Feeling the line between fear and excitement beginning to blur; where a moment’s misstep could mean death –where had that gone? When had _this_ –the thing he loved most in this world –become such a chore?

He wanted a challenge; a _real_ fight; one that tested him -where the outcome was uncertain until the very last stroke fell. He loved to fight –loved to hear his blood singing as he beat back death and defeat; loved the thrill that came from triumphing over a worthy adversary after a fight that he could be proud to hear the bards singing of.

But worthy adversaries were in short supply these days.

And if his victory was assured; if he wasn’t fighting to protect his life or his pride, well, then winning was meaningless. Without the thrill of battle, this tournament was nothing but a massacre. And he was no butcher.

He was a Hero.

And in his chest, his heart beat rhythmically on.

The crowd’s roars turned to white noise in his ears as, with steady hands, he sheathed his longsword; his second –his favourite –still unbloodied at his back. He was renowned for these two swords; people came from all over Albion to see them tearing up the Arena; but why bother drawing both when one was more than enough?

Maybe they’d dock his prize money for not putting on a good enough show. That’d be a pain, but really, it was all on them. They’d promised that this tournament would have a finale to remember.

Aomine looked back over his shoulder at the beast; two of its legs severed, and its eyes, set into an ugly, misshapen head, were as glazed and empty as his own.

He should’ve remembered that they always said that.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to not be in awe of Aomine’s strength. The crowd certainly was –all around Kuroko, there were people on their feet, yelling and stamping and calling his name; throwing flowers and gold into the ring in celebration. He felt as though maybe he was the only person in this sea of strangers, that remained frozen.

He wondered if any of them saw it –the dull, bored look in Aomine’s face as he gazed around at the faceless crowd. He was still too young for his eyes to seem so grey, and it made Kuroko’s heart sad.  It felt like it hadn’t been so long ago that he had sat in this very Arena, staring down at a bright-eyed, grinning boy; still a child in the eyes of the world –bloodied and bleeding and holding aloft the trophy that would ensure that all the land knew his name. He had been so proud. And even as the crowd had cheered for this young Hero, he had clambered atop the horns of the mighty beast he’d felled, and thrust his sword to the sky; a conqueror.

Not now.

To Kuroko, he almost seemed mournful. Tired, but not from fatigue. He was so strong; brilliant beyond his young years. And the fighting tournament that had once brought such a shine to his eyes was now making his heart heavy. Down in the ring, accompanied by Arena guards and the announcer, Aomine was seen to accept a handsome bag of gold; his reward for the show, and for proving his mettle and showing his strength to Albion, but the proffered trophy; one that a young Aomine had coveted, once upon a time, went ignored.

 

* * *

 

 

Distantly, Aomine heard one of the guards calling his name. Adjusting his prize money under his arm, he turned, and found a broad, uniformed guard approaching him; the Champion’s Seal –the prized trophy of the Arena, clutched in his hands. Aomine eyed it blankly for a moment, before turning away again and heading for the gates.

“M-Master Aomine –” The guard hollered; heavy boots pacing after him, “Your trophy…”

“Keep it,” Aomine droned, waving him off dismissively, not even deigning to fling a glance over his shoulder. His expression curled into a scowl, eyelids hooding listlessly.

“…I already got a dozen just like it.”  

 

* * *

 

Kuroko was wrong. He’d thought that he was the only person in the crowd that wasn’t roaring with applause at Aomine’s triumph –but there was another, standing right beside him, that was also still; but frozen as if entranced by what he had just witnessed.

“Amazing,” was what he said; his eyes wide with shock, and awe, and something that maybe, just _might_ have been excitement. “He really is…amazing. Without even trying, he…” Wordless, he trailed off.

 “Aomine-kun has become a strong Hero,” Kuroko agreed, and his companion; a young Kagami Taiga, nodded; his brow furrowing into deep frown as he watched the careless way that Aomine refused to accept his trophy. “…Too strong.”

“No such thing,” Kagami scoffed condescendingly, and suddenly all that awe was gone from his voice and replaced with scorn, “He’s not such a big shot. And who says the Arena decides who’s the strongest in Albion?? I know I could take this place on.”

Kuroko had the audacity to look amused.

“…Says a Hero who’s still only well-known enough to clear beetles out of basements.”

“Oi! Shut up! You’ll see!” Kagami growled vehemently, “I’m gonna get way more famous than that moron down there! So what if he was the youngest Champion in Albion history?” He glared down into the ring; staring at the monster that Aomine had slain, and then at the back of the Hero himself; sauntering towards the door as though he _hadn’t_ just competed in a life-or-death tournament.

“So he thinks he’s the best?” he snorted, his hands curling into fists, “This is nothing to him?”

Kuroko sighed. _Here we go_.

“I’ll show him something,” he growled; a promise. “When I get to fight here, I’ll defeat monsters even _he’s_ never killed! And I’ll _make_ him fight hard. When I get to face him he better not fuck around! I won’t let him.” Sensing Kuroko’s eyes on him, he turned, and added, as though it was completely obvious, “If I’m gonna be the best then I’ll have to beat _him_ at his best.”

His red eyes were blazing; sparking and bright; just like blue eyes that Kuroko remembered well. They were full of that fire that made Heroes, Heroes –the kind of eyes that belonged to those who possessed the power and will to shape destinies.

 _Aomine-kun is not the only one who is strong_.

Kagami’s grin was feral, and determined, and brimming with resolve –excited and impatient for the future to come.

“One day I’ll get in that ring and show him a _real_ fight!”


	3. The Life and Struggles of Kasamatsu Yukio: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a big world, and Kise's a grown-up now. That means that he shouldn't be Kasamatsu's problem, but somehow he always is. But as much as he'll claim otherwise, looking out for him really isn't so much of a chore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just for reference: this chapter is set at approximately the same time as Chapter One: so is also considered to be set in the "present".)

“Moriyama, I’m not his _handler_.”

Kasamatsu Yukio had made a point of making this _very_ obvious over the years, but for some reason, everyone at the Guild and beyond saw fit to ignore him, and he was getting tired of having to repeat himself.

“ _Yes, yes, so you’ve said_ ,” came the patient reply from his old friend. Kasamatsu supposed it was meant to placate him, but it came off more patronising than anything else. “ _But he and Takao have an infiltration mission in a few days and we haven’t heard from him –Kobori reckons that he’s left his Guild Seal here._ ”

“And that is my problem _how_?” Kasamatsu grumbled, rather wishing that he’d thought to do much the same, considering that that wretched Seal was the means by which Moriyama was currently pestering him.

“ _–I just thought I’d let you know_ ,” Moriyama remarked lightly, “ _So if you happen to see him, then remind him to come back to the Guild_?” Kasamatsu knew _exactly_ what he was implying right there. He knew every time his Guild Seal brightened up; opening the lines of communication from Heroes at the Guild to those out in the field –that he’d wind up playing babysitter for Kise Ryouta.

“So you’ve let everyone else know to keep an eye out?” Kasamatsu deadpanned, interpreting Moriyama’s extended silence as a negative. “–Moriyama…”

“ – _You always know where to find him_ ,” Moriyama pointed out, and Kasamatsu clapped a gloved hand to his face to smooth out the lines of irritation growing progressively more prominent on his brow. “ _Now, now, don't act like it's a chore. I bet you already know where he is, don’t you_?”

Kasamatsu sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he greeted the guards that were stationed at the entrance to the South District of Bowerstone. As the gates opened he was greeted by the hustle-and-bustle of the marketplace at noon; traders and civilians and the odd Hero all a part of the crowd.

“ _Anyway, aren’t you meant to be headed for Westcliffe already? They asked for you by name._ ”

“I’m aware,” Kasamatsu assured him. “I have some business in Bowerstone first,” he added, grey-blue eyes peering out across the marketplace as he wandered, “…But I can make it on time if I get a horse tonight. I’ll report back once I’ve sorted things out, out there. It shouldn’t be anything I can’t handle.”

“ _And Kise?_ ”

“Don’t worry about Kise,” Kasamatsu muttered, spying the exact kind of stall he was looking for, and making a beeline for it. The crowd parted for him; his armour –worn with pride –marking him as an adventurer; a Hero. “When I see him, I’ll send him back to the Guild.”

“ _Good luck_ – _and while you’re in Westcliffe, there’s this_ adorable _barmaid there that I_ –”

“This conversation is over.”

“ _She was quite the beauty, and I really feel like we made a_ connection _, so if you could pass on a messa –_ ”

“I’m hanging up on you now.”

“ _I believe she had a sister; quite a serious lady –well endowed, if you know what I mean –_ ” Kasamatsu reached into the depths of the pouch hanging at his hip and pulled out his Guild Seal; a gold emblem that fit into the palm of his hand. The edges were glowing blue, signalling that the line of communication was current in use.

“ – _I think you’d like her –”_

A small spark of magic was enough to sever the link, and the blue glow faded, along with the sound of Moriyama’s voice. Kasamatsu let out a short sigh of relief, pocketing the item again and exasperated at the knowledge that hanging up like that would definitely not have stopped Moriyama’s tirade; nor would it deter him from doing it _every_ time he contacted him.

“Can I help you, sir?” the trader asked, snapping Kasamatsu out of his irritation and reminding him of what he was doing here in the first place. He could see that some of the young women and men were skirting about him; eyeing up the edges of the black tattoos visible creeping up from his shoulders. He ignored them –he was used to it by now –and pointed at what he was looking for.

* * *

 

He must have looked quite the sight; a dark haired, stern-browed Hero traipsing through the merry cobblestone marketplace in armour-plated leather; a sword at his back, and an apple pie held with surprising delicacy between his large, gloved hands. His boots thudded against the stone as he ventured away from the marketplace and deeper into the city, through streets and alleys.

It didn’t take him very long to find the house he was looking for. It was a little cottage with flowerboxes in the window and laundry hung outside; fluttering in the breeze. Letting out a deep breath, he shifted the pie in his hands and ran a hand back through his hair.

He knocked; sharp and efficient.

For a moment, he was met with silence, and he remained standing awkwardly on the doorstep. But then he caught the sound of soft footsteps, and the door creaked open to reveal a woman standing there on the threshold.

He remembered the first time he’d done this. He’d felt nauseous and been obviously uncomfortable and out of place, and his tongue had felt so heavy in his throat. But he’d had a lot of practice, and it was getting easier. Protective duty and hunting Balverines were his strengths. Women, not so much.

“Good aftern –” she began to say as the door swung open, but her words cut off in surprise as she glanced up and recognised his face. Hazel eyes widened in surprise and then softened fondly, as he held out the pie with both hands by way of greeting.

“Kasamatsu-san,” she greeted warmly, accepting the gift and smiling up at him, “It’s been a while.” He nodded shortly, a little guiltily. 

“I apologise,” he mumbled stiffly, “I should’ve come by sooner.” She patted his arm reassuringly, giggling a little as she did so.

“Don’t you worry yourself,” she tittered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “I know how busy Heroes can be.” She smiled up at him gratefully, then folded her arms as she glanced back into the house, “…You’re here for their birthday; they’ll be delighted.” Kasamatsu felt his own expression soften; the corners of his mouth curling up fondly.

“I haven’t missed one yet, have I?” he reminded her with an eyebrow raised, since he knew she couldn’t contradict him. She laughed at that.

“Guess who’s here?” she playfully called into the house; immediately prompting a symphony of thumping from upstairs and the sound of a little someone, or multiple little someones, dropping what they were doing.

A bright eyed little girl dressed in white and yellow appeared on the staircase; her blonde hair tied up with a blue bow and her face curious and a little shy. A mere moment after spotting Kasamatsu, all traces of shyness were gone and, absolutely _beaming_ , she let out a piercing shriek.

“ _Koutarou, Koutarou! Come quick!_ ”

Kasamatsu flinched, letting out a small chuckle.

Drawn by her yells, a second blur followed the first; streaking down the stairs in a thunder of stomping. Upon seeing their guest, his eyes; the same honey as his sister’s, widened in delight, and both children hurtled down the remaining stairs at top speed with arms outstretched.

“ _Uncle Yu! It’s really you!”_

 _“Uncle Yu! You came!_ ”

“How many times do I…” Kasamatsu groaned, as both children raced across the kitchen towards him, “It’s Kasamatsu-sa…” He heaved a heavy sigh, leaning down and scooping up the little girl in one arm and feeling the tiny arms of the young boy wrap around him as best as he could. “…Oh whatever…” He smiled, tousling Koutarou’s blonde locks affectionately, “Hey brats.”

“We’re not brats now!” Koutarou insisted, “Tell him, Riku!”

“Yeah, we’re not brats!” Riku pouted, pounding on his leather chest-plate crossly, “We’re big now! It’s our _birthday_!”

“Of course it is,” he chuckled, “Why do you think I’m here?” Their eyes promptly lit up.

“ –He even brought a special pie for us to celebrate,” their mother chuckled, and they gazed up at him with shining faces and hopeful expressions.

“Mama, can he stay for dinner?” Riku queried excitedly, and then looked up at Kasamatsu, “You….you can stay for dinner, right? Or are there bad guys you gotta go fight?”

“Don’t worry,” Kasamatsu assured her, briefly pressing his lips to her forehead, “The bad guys can wait.”

“ –Did you bring us presents?”

“Koutarou!” his mother scolded, shaking her head, “That’s not polite to ask!”

“….But it’s our birthday!”

“I thought you were both _big_ now,” Kasamatsu hummed teasingly, “You really need presents?”

“ _Yes_!” came the resounding agreement.

“Really?” he chuckled, adjusting Riku on his his and smirking at them both, “What are you shrimps now, four?”

“ _Six_ , Uncle Yu! _Six_!” Riku scolded, “You get it wrong _every year_!”

“Every year!” her brother echoed. Kasamatsu’s eyes misted over affectionately, smiling down at them.

“…Six, huh?” he murmured, “I guess you really have gotten big.” There was a small pause, broken by Koutarou tentatively venturing, “…So you _did_ get us presents?”

“Of course.” The two children cheered, and wrapped their little arms around him as tight as they could. His gaze travelled to their mother; watching the display fondly as she busied herself with warming up the pie for them all to share –and then movement on the staircase attracted his attention, and a familiar face came into view, mid-stretch.

Halfway down the stairs, he seemed to catch sight of Kasamatsu standing in the doorway, and he paused, honey eyes widening in surprise. No wonder. He knew he probably looked a right foreboding sight here; all geared up for battle, when the man before him was clad in the bright, clean tunic and leggings of a villager. But he didn’t have the look of a villager –Kasamatsu had always had a good instinct about people; and this man, despite dressed like the commonfolk in this city to blend in, was anything but. The sharpness in his eyes and the way he carried himself and the way magical energy seemed to emanate from him –marked him as a Hero.

“Senpai?” he remarked, as Kasamatsu evenly met his gaze.

“Kise.”

“Papa, papa! Uncle Yu came to see us for our birthday!” Riku tittered excitedly, wriggling in Kasamatsu’s grip as Kise slowly came closer.

“And he said he brought us presents!” Koutarou added, running to his father’s side and tugging on his tunic. Standing next to him, with blonde hair and honey-coloured eyes, young Koutarou certainly looked the spitting image of Kise Ryouta.

“Did he now?” Kise laughed, patting his son on the head affectionately; which was proving to be hard because of how vigorously Koutarou was nodding.

“I guess you brats want them, right?” Kasamatsu remarked, chuckling with Riku batted him with her little fists for the nickname as he deposited her back on the ground. He reached into his pouch –charmed to hold much more than it ought to and pulled out his gifts; each neatly wrapped and tied with a ribbon.

In _seconds_ the ground was littered with paper, and the two children were dancing around the room in delight, letting out excited shrieks and making Kasamatsu wince and mutter something along the lines of “I wonder who they got _that_ from…”

“It’s so pretty, it’s so pretty! Mama, I’m a princess!” Riku was crowing, her little silver tiara now balanced haphazardly and very wonkily on her head as she struggled to both dance and pull on her new coat. “Papa, I can’t do up the buttons –”

“I look just like Papa now!” Koutarou added excitedly, his child’s woollen coat styled to look like armour; complete with a small, white winter cloak. The coat itself was a blue, with white cuffs –and did indeed look a lot like the armour that Kise often favoured; it was the reason Kasamatsu had chosen it. “Uncle Yu; did you get this while you were on an adventure?!”

“I sure did –” Kasamatsu replied, helping him fasten up his cloak, “ –There…now you’re ready to fight an ice troll.”

From the look on the young boy’s face, this was exactly the right thing to say.

“I’ll fight a _hundred_ ice trolls!” he declared, as Kise finished straightening up his daughter’s tiara, “ _More_ than Papa!”

“I want to fight ice trolls too!” Riku chipped in, twirling around in her new coat; the same blue and white as her brother’s, and promptly knocking her tiara out of alignment again.

“Ice trolls are pretty scary,” Kise pointed out playfully, “So maybe you should ask Uncle Yu to tell you how to beat em!” Kasamatsu gave him a patented _Are you kidding me_ face, but Kise just winked at him cheekily, knowing that he was safe from being scolded since there were children present.

“You’ll tell us, won’t you, Uncle Yu?” the children begged, crowding him and making their parents laugh. “You’ll tell us about your adventures, won’t you?” Koutarou insisted, “How many Balverines did you kill? Was it really scary? Did you rescue any princesses?”

Kasamatsu didn’t appreciate Kise’s snicker at that.

“The princesses don’t _need_ saving, dummy,” Riku sniffed, swatting her brother, “Did you rescue any princes?”

Kise wasn’t doing very well at muffling his laughter. Kasamatsu wasn’t doing very well at ignoring him, either.

“Manners,” their mother chided with an apologetic smile, “What do you say?”

That of course, prompted both children to enthusiastically glomp him whilst crowing their thanks.

“ –Well, how about we go down to the market and get something special to have for dinner?” she added, proving his saviour a moment later by distracting her children, “You can show off your new presents –and maybe if you’re good, Kasamatsu-san will play his lute for us when we get back.”

“You’ll play?? Will you play one about Papa?” Riku begged, her honey eyes so wide and bright that Kasamatsu had to look away to avoid being blinded –or swayed.

“…We’ll see,” he remarked noncommittedly, which was apparently an affirmative in the children’s eyes, because they started bouncing excitedly all over again, and had to be shepherded off out the door by their mother.

“Thank you, Kasamatsu-san,” she added kindly, as they departed, “It’s too much, really; those clothes are beautiful.”

“It's not every day they turn six. And winter’s going to be cold this year,” he shrugged, “And I thought they might like them.”

“…They love them,” she assured him with a light chuckle.

_"Mama, hurry up!"_

“We’ll be back soon,” she promised, and nodded across the room to Kise, who was pulling the pie off the heat to make sure it didn’t burn. “…Don’t be too rough with him, okay?” she added, but laughed when he scoffed, “ –I’m not making any promises.”  

The door clicked shut behind them, and the two men were left alone in the kitchen. Kise laid the hot pie out onto the kitchen bench, and turned to him with a bright, welcoming smile –

“Senpai; it’s good to see y – _owwww_!”

–And then he was doubled over on the ground with a heavy boot-print between his shoulder blades; Kasamatsu standing over him with his boot raised and ready for another kick, and a vein dangerously twitching in his temple.

“ _That’s for not taking your Guild Seal_ again!”

“ _Sorry, senpai!_ ”

Kasamatsu let out a low, hot breath and lowered his foot; letting Kise get back to his feet as he leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Well, don’t just apologise; actually start _taking_ it –I’ve got a job to do too, you know,” he snorted, huffing out a breath and adding, in a less scolding tone, “You’ve got an infiltration mission with Takao in a few days and they’re expecting you back at the Guild.” Kise didn’t reply; just mimicked his stance against the counter and stared at him for a long moment. “What?”

“…You’re meant to be working and you still came,” Kise observed, eyeing his stony profile.

“Of course,” Kasamatsu muttered, as though there was no other option, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“You didn’t have to get them presents.”

“I did, and you know it,” he scoffed. Not that he begrudged the fact –they were kids; and they deserved to celebrate. And there was something about seeing the joy in those bright eyes that made his day; and it brought him comfort, knowing that these little faces were a part of what he was protecting.

“You spoil them,” Kise pointed out, but he wasn’t scolding. Rather, it came off as grateful, in a sense –grateful that there were other people in their lives to shower them with treasures since he wasn’t always around. Kasamatsu snorted dismissively.

“ –No more than any of your other brats.”

“How true,” Kise chuckled airily, before slyly peering at him out of the corner of his eye, “You must be getting soft, senpai. Maybe one day you’ll spoil me as much as you spoil my kids.”

“I swear I’ll kick you again.” And after having known each other for all these years, Kise at least knew better than to push his luck. “…And don’t you start with that ‘Uncle Yu’ crap again.” He glanced at Kise from the corner of his eye and watched the blonde chuckle a little. Without ill-intent, but feeling compelled nonetheless, Kasamatsu dug his fist into Kise’s ribs and smirked when he squirmed.

“So mean~” he grumbled, rubbing his aching ribs when Kasamatsu removed his fist. “Senpai?”

“Hmm?”

“…I…hadn’t forgotten,” Kise mumbled, looking at the ground with downcast eyes, “…About the quest with Takaocchi. I was gonna head back to the Guild soon, I promise.”

“I know,” Kasamatsu assured him with a sigh, laying a companionable hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t even be angry with him this time. Heroes were the champions of the realm, and they had responsibilities –something that all of the mentors had a hard time drilling into the young apprentices from peaceful, cushy parts of Albion who had just discovered they had a natural aptitude for magic. And though some situations called for berating for neglecting some of those responsibilities….he couldn’t begrudge him for choosing others to take priority.

“ – _But_ you’re still going to be taking the apprentices for physical training when you get back.”

“What??” Kise exclaimed, mouth falling open in protest; apparently deeming this _far_ too harsh a punishment.  

“Take your damn Seal with you.”

“ –But they pull my hair and never listen to me!”

“I know the feeling.”

There was silence, for a moment –a comfortable one that comes from years spent in each other’s company and enduring all sorts of trials together.

“You’re going away tonight, right?” Kise inquired tentatively.

“Westcliffe,” Kasamatsu replied shortly, shaking his head, “Balverine infestation. I swear those things are spreading.”

“Hah –well, no one knows how to deal with them quite like you,” Kise reminded him with a small shrug, earning him a suspicious look from his old mentor; wondering if he was being mocked. “…Can we train together, when you get back?”

“Tch,” Kasamatsu snorted, lips curled into the closest to a grin that they’d been today, “If the apprentices don’t eat you alive, then maybe.” Kise’s eyes narrowed slyly at the jibe; a flash of competitiveness crossing his features before it faded as he tore his gaze away when Kasamatsu added sternly, “And Moriyama will be expecting you back at the Guild in a day or two, and I do _not_ want another call from him –”

“Understood.”

Kise laughed a little, when Kasamatsu grumbled something that sounded a little like, _“You bloody better –”_ and relaxed, saying, “It’s been a while. Are you staying long?”

“I’ll leave after dinner,” Kasamatsu informed him, and rolled his eyes when Kise pouted –apparently ignoring the fact that he had a monster infestation to deal with elsewhere.  

“They won’t let you leave without a song, you know?” the blonde hummed reproachfully –and somewhat cheekily; a reminder in a tone that Kasamatsu did not need or appreciate.

“I’m well aware,” he muttered in resignation, ignoring the way the tips of his ears warmed. He loved to play –no one became any sort of bard unless they did –but songs were for festivals and as a last resort to impress, distract and lull children and wilful apprentices. And although it was nice, it was also a little embarrassing to be called upon to play.  

“What are you going to play?” Kise asked curiously, “The love songs are the prettiest, I think, but Koutarou and Riku like the ones about adventures –” As all children did. “ –The ones about Aominecchi’s were always my favourites, but Kurokocchi has –”

“ –They’d probably like to hear one about their father,” Kasamatsu interrupted, knowing that this could probably take quite some time if he let Kise go through all his favourite songs.

“So you _do_ know some of the songs about me!” Kise exclaimed, as though he’d just discovered some huge secret.

“I wouldn’t be any kind of bard if I didn’t.”

 _Who do you think wrote half of them_?

Not that Kise should ever know that.

* * *

"Enjoy your time with your kids, Kise," Kasamatsu murmured, later that evening, when the sun had finished setting, and the stars and the city lanterns were all that lit the streets. He was standing in the doorway, voice soft so as to not wake the children, and his heart strangely warm, "You won't be wanting any more when the apprentices are finished with you." 

"I can handle them," Kise assured him, full of confidence, "...I used to be one of them, after all; and look how I turned out." He must have been anticipating the punch to the gut this time for his arrogance -he'd gotten enough of them when he was a teenager, after all -because as Kasamatsu went to dig his ribs, he found a pale hand encircling his wrist; holding him steady and keeping the blow at bay.

"Come back, senpai," Kise ordered, his voice uncharacteristically calm and quiet; the kind of voice he very rarely used. And it made Kasamatsu relax his arm; brought him the grim reminder that in their line of work, sometimes people _didn't_ come back. But he didn't let that dampen his spirits. He had no intention of being one of those people. Not when there were things he wanted to protect. This evening, and those like it, always managed to remind him of that. 

"Of course I will, idiot," he snorted, not without a touch of fondness; and of irritation at the implied doubt in his abilities, "I promised I'd train with you, didn't I?"

 

And then Kise smiled, and Kasamatsu firmly refused to admit that that look might be one of those things.

"I look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it is, but I've always wanted to write Kasamatsu interacting with kids. I also think Kise would probably have adorable kids! Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment to tell me what you think so far!
> 
> xx K


	4. Encounters at the Bordello (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bordello** ( _n_ )  
> 1\. A brothel  
> 2\. A place where paths converge, apparently
> 
> Imayoshi just wanted to run a business in peace. Was that really so much to ask?

 

It was rather amazing how much nicer a room could be without the lingering smell of burning carpet. Finally, after what felt like  _weeks_ of letting draughts have free reign in order to air out the bar, Imayoshi Shouichi could breathe easy without the bitter scent of ash assaulting his senses. And  _thank Avo_ (or Skorm –Imayoshi didn’t have particularly fierce loyalty to either deity) that they could finally shut the doors and windows –fall was creeping up, and the Darkwood could be a cold and dreary place this time of year.

Not that it was ever a particularly cheery place even in the summer months.

His guests and patrons –somewhat unsavoury as they sometimes were –hadn’t minded the lingering burning smell, (or had been wise enough not to comment) but even this kind of establishment had standards that Imayoshi expected to be maintained, regardless.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Once upon a time, The Bordello had been nothing but a dingy, dirty old whorehouse –‘ _an oasis of love, luxury and depravity in the middle of the dangerous forests of Darkwood_ ’. Depravity came with the territory, and it had hardly been luxurious, and brothels tended to be somewhat lacking in _love_ , but that it had been respite from the terrors that lurked in Darkwood was true enough. Its dilapidated state had, to most eyes, seemed well beyond salvaging, however it was a good patch of land, and surprisingly well-travelled, and pleasure was a commodity that never went out of style. And for a man with a loose moral code and an eye for profit, _well_ , it was a business opportunity not to be missed.

And he had not raised a thriving hamlet from the ground, with The Bordello –now a popular inn, brothel, and prosperous love hotel –in its centre, just for Heroes who couldn’t keep their fire magic and their tempers under control to sully his fine establishment with the bloodstains and the scorch marks and unpleasant smell of burning carpet that was all too reminiscent of what it had once been.

But now the air had cleared, and the bloodstains and scorch marks had been neatly painted over (once again), and there were embers smouldering pleasantly in the hearth and providing some respite from the chill outside that heralded the change of seasons. Best of all, the month’s records that Imayoshi was currently poring over at the bar were so far indicating that business (as expected) was proceeding rather smoothly.

One might not have thought as much, considering how empty the bar currently looked –devoid of customers and occupied only by himself and two in his employ –but although the tavern at The Bordello was reputed to offer an excellent brew and good food, it was by no means what it was renowned for. It was a good sign that there were no attractive young women (or men, for that matter) loitering at the bar –it meant that they were all _working_ , as it were. And he knew for a fact that there was always a room in use; for as well as restless travellers, bandits and Heroes looking for some _release_ , there were always secret lovers, and lords with mistresses who would brave Darkwood to make use of his rooms, after all.

_(For a price, of course)_

Imayoshi allowed himself a small, fox-like smile as he analysed the notes laid out in front of him –pausing every so often to scratch out a number or to scrawl down a memo for when the next trader convoy came passing through. Fall was fast approaching, and although he was amply prepared for the upcoming long nights, it didn’t hurt to be cautious. The cold seasons brought bandits as both raiding parties and patrons, so ale, meat, and hired muscle were going to be necessities. Not that Imayoshi personally felt particularly threatened –most men were wise enough to behave in his part of the world –but some of his other clients weren’t quite as at ease. And in his experience, clients who felt safe and welcome were more likely to spend, and come again –so it was in his interest to make that happen.

“So, Susa,” Imayoshi remarked conversationally, not even looking up from his papers and seeming almost to be speaking to himself.

“ –No, Imayoshi,” came the immediate response from the broad, dark-haired man sitting further down the bar with a half-finished tankard of ale. Imayoshi glanced up, seeing his old friend grace him with a long suffering look. He took a swig of his drink, shaking his head, “I’ve already told you; I’m not working for you this season.”

“So you have other jobs lined up?” Imayoshi inquired lightly, making a great show of proof reading his current page of notes, before dramatically flicking to the next. Susa didn’t reply, which made him smirk, adding, “So, no?”

“I’ll find something,” Susa assured him, “Everyone’s looking for a mercenary these days. And always willing to pay,” he added pointedly.

“Oh come now,” Imayoshi tittered playfully, propping up his head with his hand, “Let’s not pretend that the gold you make here is worth any less than what you’d make anywhere else. The work’s steady and my clients tip; you have food, and board, and you get along with all my girls –”

“Well, I got a girl back home who wouldn’t like to hear you say that,” Susa sighed, shaking his head, “And to tell you the truth, I don’t think she likes you all that much either.” He glanced over at Imayoshi rather pointedly, who at least made a polite attempt at appearing offended.

“I am _shocked_ to hear such a thing,” he commented, feigning offense –but Susa didn’t look like he bought it even for a second.

“I’m sure,” he deadpanned, “Anyway; she doesn’t like me working out here, and seems to want me home this fall –” He took another swig of his drink and shrugged helplessly, “I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“…Good help is so hard to find,” Imayoshi lamented with a sigh, shaking his head and going back to flicking through his papers, “And Sakurai? Do you intend to continue cleaning that table all day, or do you have other plans?” He heard, rather than saw, the mousy-haired young man tending to the tavern tables snap to attention and audibly quiver upon being addressed.

“Sakurai?”

“Oh, yes!”

“…Yes?” Imayoshi queried with a sigh, “Yes, you’re planning to keep cleaning that same table, or –”

“Oh. No! Sir. I mean,” Sakurai’s voice quaked, and he bowed low enough and fast enough for the links in his chainmail to rattle vigorously, “I’m sorry, sir! Sorry!”

“ –It’s fine,” Imayoshi assured him in a tired voice –cutting off the apology speech that the kid had a tendency to launch into. He’d quickly learned that if he didn’t hastily change the subject, he was in for quite the headache and a whole lot of unnecessary apologising. “ –How about you go get started on some lunch, hmm? I’m sure our dear guests will be rising soon, and will have…worked up quite the appetite.”

“ –Yes, sir! S-sorry, sir!”

“How many times have I told you to stop that. It’s annoying.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I mean…sorry sir…I’m sorry for being annoying!”

“Oh _gods_ ,” Imayoshi sighed heavily, waving a hand at the young man to dismiss him to the kitchen. Sakurai yelped quietly, and scuttled off almost immediately, leaving Susa sending an exasperated look at his back.

After the kitchen door had swung shut behind him, it didn’t take long for an assortment of delicious smells to start wafting out into the bar –definitely already seeming a lot more appetising than the breakfast of bread and cheese Imayoshi had fixed for himself and Susa earlier than morning. He could feel his stomach grumbling.

Sakurai had his quirks, but no one could feed a tavern full of drunk, horny, hungry travellers quite like he could.

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, the promise of impending food began drifting up the stairs and deeper into the building, rousing it to life. It wouldn’t be long now until the floorboards began creaking softly, and muffled footsteps could be heard upon the stairs.

And soon enough, the first light footsteps could be heard at the bottom of the stairs; indicating that someone was particularly eager for a warm meal.

“Mmm! Something smells _good_!” came the cheerful declaration; accompanied by a dramatic, feminine yawn. Imayoshi recognised the voice, and didn’t even need to look up to know that the newcomer was a busty, blonde woman –green eyed, attractive, and likely about half-dressed.

“Good morning, Alex,” he greeted conversationally, “Made any men cry today?”

“Not yet,” she replied with a small shrug as she stretched and leaned up against the bar beside Susa, “But it’s only lunchtime.” Imayoshi had to chuckle at that, and looked up to catch her grinning wickedly at him. “ –And there’s a creep who’s been sneaking in from Darkwood Camp who’s been harassing some of the girls,” she added, adjusting the bracers on her wrists with a little glint in her eye that never failed to remind Imayoshi why he’d hired her in the first place.

She might make a habit of wandering around The Bordello rather scantily clad, but the subtle armour she wore –heavy gauntlets, leather breastplate and plated boots –was a warning. And any man foolish enough to take her for a whore would be quickly, and _violently_ corrected.

Imayoshi locked gazes with her for a moment, as she helped herself to a mug of ale from the tap, and remarked, most cordially, “I look forward to hearing his screams.”

He and Susa had known each other for quite the few years now, but it was always funny how shocked he could sometimes look.

“A joke, Susa.”

Susa did not look reassured in the slightest.

“I presume then, that there’s nothing amiss upstairs?” Imayoshi inquired, raising an eyebrow, “ –It’s been quite the quiet morning.”

“Mm,” Alex shrugged, “Cold mornings. Men like sleeping in.”

“…And the girls? We haven’t seen many of them this morning.”

“Back to work,” she replied, and both men glanced at her with genuine surprise. She chuckled, shrugging again and sipping on her ale quite contentedly, “This time of year; nice to have a warm body to wrap around, you know?”

“I see,” Imayoshi mused, before Alex directed her attention towards the kitchen, where Sakurai was already emerging, precariously carrying several plates of steaming soup. He’d only just managed to set them all down on the counter before Alex was leaning across it and planting a chaste greeting kiss directly on his lips. Poor Sakurai; despite regularly receiving such treatment, turned an odd shade of red and leapt back a pace, bowing apologetically.

“Alex, stop scaring the boy,” Imayoshi tittered reproachfully, as Alex collected up her plate and her ale –openly mourning the lack of pie (something that was no doubt going to get set Sakurai off again). “And you know that gives people the wrong idea.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him, waving away his concerns and spilling droplets of ale all over the countertop, “He’s still just a kid, after all.” Imayoshi didn’t even try to argue with her about how little that made sense. “ –Well, our guests are waking up so I’ll head back upstairs, invite ‘em to lunch, make sure there’s no trouble –” She trailed off lightly, adjusted her drink and lunch in her hands, and with a sweep of her long hair and the thumping of her boots, she was off up the stairs again.

“ _I’ll be back for pie later~_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

As satisfying as it was going through his records, it was an even better feeling to have finished going through them with the knowledge that everything was in order. He was also rather grateful that none of the bar’s occupants had disturbed him while he’d been working –Sakurai’s cooking could really charm a man, and it didn’t hurt that Susa was playing bartender for anyone who seemed to think that it was a reasonable time of day to be drinking.

In fact, Imayoshi was considering joining them. He didn’t like to drink on the job unless necessary –such a thing dulled a man’s wits, and it was always favourable to be the most intelligent man in the room –but he felt like he could enjoy a tankard of ale after a morning’s work. And there was something rather relaxing about a good brew on a cold day, especially when the bar was feeling as particularly merry as it was today.

He was just signalling to Susa to serve him up a round, when all of a sudden, the front door swung open with a hideous clatter, and a huge flurry of chilly, pre-fall wind came gusting through –sending shivers down spines and making the embers in the hearth flare in protest…and causing all of Imayoshi’s papers to dramatically flutter up from their resting spot, only to be most unceremoniously scattered all across the room.

Imayoshi exhaled resignedly, as the papers floated down and began to settle; clearing to reveal a tall figure clad in plate armour casually stomping towards the bar –heavy boots thudding on the floor and very unfortunately tracking in _mud_. 

“Sakurai, get the door, would you?” Imayoshi sighed, seeing that their new guest had apparently forgotten to close it behind him. Sakurai, who had been clearing plates, nearly dropped the damn things in his hurry to rush to his next task.

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry I didn’t get it right away, sir –”

“The door, Sakurai.”

“S-Sorry, sir!”

The door hurriedly slammed shut; thankfully shutting out that crisp wind once more.

“ –And my papers, if you would.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t catch them! I’m sorry I couldn’t get to them –”

“Oi, Sakurai,” the newcomer snorted, tugging Sakurai up off the ground whilst the boy was midway through gathering the papers up into his arms in a messy bundle. “What are you apologising for? You’re a Hero, not some kind of errand boy?” He turned to survey Imayoshi with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, Imayoshi; he’s one of the best archers in the Guild, and you’ve been using him as a serving boy?”

“Lovely to see you too, Wakamatsu,” Imayoshi remarked conversationally, gesturing for the blonde man to unhand the smaller boy. With a roll of his eyes, Wakamatsu released his grip on Sakurai and took up a seat at the bar; leaving Sakurai to scurry around and gather up all of Imayoshi’s wayward papers. Wakamatsu watched him for a moment as he scuttled around tables and apologised his way past the men and women currently enjoying their time in the tavern.

“Seriously?” he sighed, shaking his head, as Imayoshi shrugged noncommittally and took up a spot beside Susa to help him man the ale kegs, “You keep sending for more Heroes, and _this_ is what you’re making ‘em do?”

“They do what I need them to do,” he replied airily, “And we’re in tough times, Wakamatsu. All these bandits are becoming quite the rowdy bunch.” His tone was light, but it was laced with something dark and somewhat displeased. Wakamatsu grimaced, which could have meant that he picked up on it –but then again there was an equal chance that he hadn’t.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, scowling as he shook his head, “I’ve had more than a few run-ins with them –and there are rumours of new gangs cropping up all over Albion; the Guild’s having a fucking nightmare of a time –”

“Oh, well, if the _Guild_ is having trouble,” Imayoshi tittered condescendingly. “All the better to have some Heroes on hand, hmm?” he added rather pointedly, “I need someone to defend my guests and property, after all.”

“Guests,” Wakamatsu snorted with a roll of his eyes, “Is that what you’re calling them these days?” 

“Wakamatsu…” Imayoshi sighed in exasperation.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, waving away the implied reprimand, “I’m not staying long, so don’t worry. Ale, would you? A strong one.”

“Ten gold,” Imayoshi informed him as he began filling up a tankard for him. Wakamatsu let out a groan of complaint.

“That’s robbery, and you know it,” he grumbled, “Come on –you can give a good price to an old friend, right?”

“Twelve.”

“You’re a crook.”

“And _you_ just treaded half of the Darkwood moorlands onto my carpet,” Imayoshi pointed out, looking over mournfully at the muddy footprints that were now dirtying his floor, “And just when we’d gotten rid of that burning smell…”

“Burning smell….” Wakamatsu raised an eyebrow, tossing some coins across the table –and a few extra for whatever it was that was smelling so good in the kitchen. “Oh. Kagami still having some problems with his fire magic?”

“His magic is fine enough,” he assured him, “It’s his attitude towards setting people on fire that needs some work.”

“Fair point,” Wakamatsu admitted, gratefully accepting his drink and promptly taking a decent scull of it. He wiped his dripping chin off with his sleeve and belched approvingly, “Actually, I ran into his brother at the Darkwood camp –taking the gamblers for all they were worth, from what I, uhh, saw.”

“…Lost a lot of gold to him?” Susa remarked flatly.

“ _So much gold_ ,” Wakamatsu groaned pathetically, resting his face in his hands.

“ –Still twelve gold for an ale,” Imayoshi reminded him dismissively, and Wakamatsu just glared at him, looking thoroughly put out.

“Seriously? We’ve known each other for what, ten years now?” he grumbled.

“…And your continued financial support means so much to me,” he assured him flippantly, beckoning for Sakurai to head off to the kitchen to heat something up for their old friend. “Speaking of financial support –Susa here is pursuing new employment for the upcoming winter months –”

“ –Not this again –”

“ –You wouldn’t happen to have heard of anything, hmm?”

“Heading back to Brightwall for winter?” Wakamatsu inquired curiously, taking another swig of beer.

“That’s the idea,” Susa shrugged, giving Imayoshi a slightly scathing look, which he pretended not to see.

“Any job but here?”

“ –Pretty much.”

“Hmm,” Wakamatsu mused, scratching his head and shrugging, “I’m headed out that way, actually, so I’ll ask around. And the Guild might have something for you –but can’t guarantee the money; all those fucking brats want all the good quests these days.” He sullenly took a swig of his drink. “…Miyaji and I cleared out a Hobbe den a week or two ago for about a _third_ of what the fucking Quest was worth...”

“See now; this is why I’m in the business I’m in,” Imayoshi tutted, “ _Substantial_ profit for a fraction of the work on my part. And decidedly less risk of bodily harm, I might add.” He had always been rather attached to his body, and he very much intended to keep it that way.

“Some of us like kicking ass and taking names,” he scoffed in return, contentedly digging into the pie that Sakurai had just laid out in front of him –only to immediately burn his mouth and break out into a string of colourful curses.

“Is that so?” Imayoshi mused, “…Well, by the sounds of it, you’ll be hard pressed to find any asses to kick, or any names to take. At least ones that pay.” He couldn’t help taking a little glee in the splutter of annoyance that Wakamatsu let out –but his offended yelp and subsequent irritated defensiveness was rather grating. But, as he’d said earlier (and as he said every time he visited The Bordello, in the hopes of cheap drinks, meals, board, and whores), they had known each other for some time.

And Imayoshi had learned to sort of phase it out. Like white noise. Heroes could be eccentric fellows.

Well, perhaps that was putting it a little too lightly.

He took advantage of the fact that Wakamatsu was suitably distracted by his own voice, to take stock of who was currently enjoying the comfort of the bar; and whether or not they were likely to be parting with their gold anytime soon. There were of course, the men left over from the night before –some of them hungover and haggard and others trying to appear as insignificant as possible. Susa would probably be thrilled to know that both parties would likely be requesting an armed escort through the forest at some stage. They tipped handsomely, too –people tended to when their lives were at stake.

Then, there were his employees –whores for all tastes, and the mercenaries and Heroes that kept a watchful eye on the proceedings. As flappable and timid Sakurai outwardly seemed, he _was_ still a Hero, and perfectly capable of handling any situations that might arise. And just the mere presence of Susa; a burly, broad, solemn mercenary standing at the bar and watching over the room, tended to be enough to deter any troublemakers.

And then there were his new customers –those who like Wakamatsu, had arrived from the Darkwood moors in search of food, comfort, and perhaps a whore or two. Some of them were gratefully lounging at tables armed with ale and generous helpings of Sakurai’s cooking –exchanging tales and eyeing up whores. That was what he liked to see.

Soon enough, they’d be seeking him out, and exchanging some gold for a key to a room upstairs.

But then, even as he eyed up the room, he spied a lone man loitering near the door. Imayoshi hadn’t heard him come in. He hadn’t approached the bar as of yet, and was casually scanning the room; seeming uninterested in anything his establishment had to offer –but Imayoshi was well acquainted with dangerous men with sharp eyes, and knew that there was a reason for his being there.

Funnily enough, those sorts of men also had a way of knowing when they were being watched, and it only took a few moments of gazing expectantly in his direction for secretive grey eyes to lock with his. Imayoshi couldn’t help but chuckle to himself –something that didn’t go unnoticed by either Wakamatsu or Susa –as the man; dressed all in black and dark shades of purple, straightened up and obligingly approached the bar.

“…Speaking of brats who have been robbing you,” Imayoshi remarked conversationally, his remark directed at Wakamatsu and not being in the least bit appreciated, “ – _Himuro Tatsuya_ , what a pleasure.”

“Always,” came the smooth reply; cool, innocent, and undeniably very pleasant. Wakamatsu’s expression grew stormy and his head whipped around in time to see a beautiful, dark haired man taking up residence on the bar stool right beside him. The newcomer smiled at him pleasantly, adding in a friendly tone, “Ah, Wakamatsu-san too? How nice to see you again so soon.” His grey eyes glittered in amusement, while Wakamatsu fumed. “Do let me buy you a drink.”

“With _my_ gold, you cheat,” Wakamatsu muttered into his mug, glancing away crossly.

“Bitterness doesn’t become you, Wakamatsu,” Imayoshi chided, “Don’t go causing trouble now.” Wakamatsu just scoffed a little, but grudgingly nodded when Himuro offered him a smile and gestured at the kegs of ale stacked behind the bar. Imayoshi obligingly accepted his gold and began filling up some fresh mugs for them.

“The Bordello hasn’t seen you in quite some time, Himuro,” Imayoshi remarked conversationally, “Staying out of mischief, I hope?”

“I’ve been keeping busy,” Himuro assured him, although that was neither here nor there, and his voice was giving nothing away, “You know how Albion is –it’s always monsters this and assassinations that.” He shrugged dismissively and gratefully accepted the drink that was handed to him.

“Indeed,” Imayoshi muttered under his breath, before straightening up and letting his sly mask fall back into place, “So might I assume that you’re in Darkwood on business?”

“Of sorts,” Himuro replied airily, “Between jobs at the moment, you might say –but I’ve promised Taiga I’d go to Deepwood with him.”

“Deepwood, hmm?” he mused in return, “Sounds like a delightful place for a visit.” Rumours said that the entire forest was haunted. Imayoshi was inclined to believe. And from the way that Himuro chuckled, he believed it too.

“ –Kagami still not so good with ghosts?” Wakamatsu queried dryly, obviously thinking along similar lines.

“You could say that,” Himuro sighed wearily, though not without a touch of fondness, “And as much fun as I’ve been having at the Darkwood Camp waiting for him –” He spared Wakamatsu a small, mischievous smile, “ –I decided to drop by. You haven’t happened to have seen my baby brother, by any chance?” He raised an eyebrow, but Imayoshi merely painted on a sly smile.

“…You know I don’t disclose information about my clients,” he replied, mock reproachfully, and clearly enjoying himself a little. _At least, not without a little incentive. And measures being taken to ensure that his reputation remained undamaged…_

 _–_ Not important right now.

Himuro had his visible eyebrow raised, and seemed unfazed by Imayoshi’s reply.

“So he’s a client,” he mused impassively, “…Which means you’ve seen him.” He sighed, shaking his head and taking a sip of his ale, “That Taiga. I hope he’s not getting himself into trouble.”

“Kagami? Getting into trouble? No way,” Wakamatsu scoffed sarcastically, and the men at the bar couldn’t help but share a chuckle of amusement, “He set Midorima on fire here not a few weeks ago.”

“That sounds like Taiga,” Himuro conceded with a sigh, “Although from what Takao has said, he _attempted_ to set Midorima on fire.”

“Attempted is right,” Imayoshi remarked flatly, “He’s never had too much of a problem with facing off against more experienced spellcasters, has he now? And indoors, no less,” he added, with a scoff and war flashbacks of smoke and ashes, and that awful burning smell that had plagued him over the last weeks. He didn’t appreciate the fact that both Wakamatsu and Himuro appeared to be snickering at his establishment’s expense.

“You might be waiting a while,” Wakamatsu chuckled resignedly, elbowing Himuro lightly, “How about you give me a chance to win some of my gold back?”

“ –You were literally talking earlier about how you’re not getting paid very well,” Susa sighed in exasperation.

“Oh, I had no idea,” Himuro remarked innocently, as Wakamatsu glared accusingly at his old friend, “ –I’ll take you up on your offer though.”

“ –Just a quick reminder, Wakamatsu,” Imayoshi warned pleasantly, “No freebies when you lose all your gold.”

“You’re as fucking bad as each other, you know that?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was always so nice to see his business running so harmoniously. If Imayoshi had been a whistling man, he might just have whistled along with the pair of bards that had wandered in sometime in the last few hours. They were playing a jaunty tune –a particularly vulgar variation of the one about a troll prince who never smiled. Usually it was played at festivals and for children –who loved to sing along with the hawk, who tried (usually unsuccessfully) to make the troll prince smile, but there was also no drunk who could resist joining in whenever it started up at a tavern or campfire.

From memory, Takao was very proud of it.

Susa had recently departed with a few of their customers from the previous night who hadn’t been daring or capable enough to brave the Darkwood moorlands alone, and Imayoshi had been taking in gold and handing out keys as his lovely workers did their duty and seduced men off to the rooms upstairs. By the looks of the faces of some of those who remained in the bar, it would be only a round or two before they were headed much the same way. And with his blessing, (and in exchange for a not unreasonable cut), Himuro had started up a table of cards across the room, where he was apparently very much in the process of bleeding the poor suckers dry. Maybe he was a cheat, as Wakamatsu’s vehement yells and general poor sportsmanship were suggesting, but if he _was_ , then he was an excellent one.

Sakurai was tending to the hearths; the temperature outside was dropping –the cold wind that was sneaking in through the gaps under the door was testimony to it. Imayoshi couldn’t help but pity Susa, out in that sort of weather; uncomplainingly trudging through mud with companions who would no doubt be making up for his lack of protests.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside, the wind howled –cold and miserable. The sky was growing grey, and leaves, still green from the summer, were being torn from any tree that didn’t cling to them tight enough.

The heavy, iron gate to The Bordello swung shut with a deep ring as a lone figure passed through it, and onwards up the neat cobblestone pathway towards the tall, redwood building from which the glade took its name. With his deep blue cloak dancing on the wind, he passed the gardens, where on warm days bards would play and lovers would flirt; passed the pond where on those same days the whores would swim naked and entice men to join them, and on light-treading feet, he ambled through the courtyard towards the door. He could hear singing inside; a song he remembered from his childhood –a song that he, once upon a time, had sung along with as he and the other children had played.

It felt like a long time ago, and it no longer made him merry. 

 

* * *

 

 

The door to The Bordello swinging open was not unusual. They were a popular establishment and men and women were free to come and go as they pleased. But this time, as the door swung open, it was different, and Imayoshi felt something shift immediately. From the corner of his eye, he noted that Himuro, still dealing out his cards, had stiffened; a hardness reaching his gaze and his body seeming to tense ever so slightly. But outwardly he showed no other signs that anything was amiss; and continued to deal with his painted-on smile.

It was the same for the rest of the room.

By the hearth near the bar, the bards played on, but even though their music filled the tavern, a kind of disquiet had entered the air and it made Imayoshi wary. He didn’t sense danger, per say, but he did not feel at ease.

So as not to appear too obvious or concerned, he let his sharp eyes rove across the tavern towards the door, swinging shut as a figure strode in; shoulders hunched and cowl pulled up over his head –no doubt to provide some protection from the wind still storming outside.

Once upon a time, he would have had the look of a mere adventurer; clad in rough leather armour and a dark woollen cloak; carrying a pouch at his hip and a bow and quiver at his back…

But not anymore.

Not with those two swords hanging at his back; their carved handles rising up over each of his shoulders –marking him as a Hero.

More than that; marking him as Aomine Daiki. 

Imayoshi allowed himself to relax a little as a tanned hand drew back that cowl to reveal the face of a man who had inspired many a song all across Albion and even beyond. He was both feared and beheld in awe, and many were right to fear him. Even from a young age, he had been powerful. A monster himself, so they said.

And sometimes, when he fought, that was possible to believe.

He was a Hero beyond measure, they sang –a brave, reckless warrior; as vibrant and wild as lightning –and a hundred times more dangerous. He had seen treasures beyond measure, and fought monsters of nightmares, and had lived the adventures that most men could only ever dream of.

But here he was; a mere eighteen years young and already wearing such dull, listless eyes; drained of youth. He appraised the room, and nothing seemed to particularly hold his interest –although he did spare several glances at some of Imayoshi’s girls loitering around in search of business. A few of them wandered a little closer as Aomine approached the bar, but stayed their approach at a sly look from Imayoshi.

“ –What a surprise,” he mused aloud; not sounding surprised at all, and his voice drawing Aomine’s attention towards the bar. The Hero paused a moment, before suspicious blue eyes turned to lock with his. They narrowed slightly, but Aomine made to approach him nonetheless; men turning aside their gazes as he passed by.

“…Haven’t seen you in a while, Aomine,” Imayoshi added, pulling out a tankard and busied himself with preparing him a drink, adding in a rather pleasant tone, “We were starting to think you might be dead.” He looked up with a wide, sly smile, and found Aomine staring down his nose at him; slouching on the bar.

“…Sorry to disappoint you,” came the thick drawl in response, languid and unapologetic. Imayoshi waved away the sentiment with a somewhat mocking laugh, his smile widening slightly.

“Oh, not at all,” he assured him lightly, as he slid the prepared drink across the counter, “…You know I care deeply about all my regular customers.” He tapped the bar expectantly, and after a brief pause, the appropriate amount of gold was dumped onto the wood for him to count. “I hear it’s been months since you’ve taken on the Arena?”

“Why should I bother?” Aomine scoffed, taking a sip of his ale and wrinkling his nose slightly. “There’s never anything worth fighting. Nothing can beat me.”

“Well, that’s to be expected,” Imayoshi shrugged, though he could see a crease appear in Aomine’s brow and the way his eyes hooded apathetically, “You are the strongest, after all.”

“…Yeah.”

Imayoshi sighed at the empty response, shaking his head in exasperation. Aomine continued with his drinking in silence for a moment, gazing around the room for someone to hold his interest for the evening –it felt like it had been a long time since someone had kept his interest for any longer. There was an attractive brunette over by the fire –with a bust that very much caught his eye. From the look of her, and from the way she seemed to immediately catch his drift when he jerked his head towards the staircase, she seemed to be one of Imayoshi’s girls –which was just fine with him.

But unfortunately, Imayoshi seemed to be in one of his talkative moods.

“You know, Momoi-san has been asking after you –”

“So?” he remarked shortly, fishing around in his pouch for some more gold. It hadn’t taken long to learn that Imayoshi would sell you anything for the right price –even his silence. Probably his soul, too – if he still had it, that was.

“ _So_ –she’s worried, you know,” Imayoshi reminded him reproachfully, making Aomine roll his eyes, “Says you haven’t been back to the Guild in months. She half thought you might really be dead.” 

“She should mind her own business,” he muttered dismissively. Satsuki was always chasing after him –always nagging at him to go back to the Guild and help train the apprentices, or team up with someone for a quest. “I can take care of myself.”

 _I don’t need anyone else_.

 

* * *

 

 

It never ceased to amaze Himuro just how terrible drunks were at gambling. He could go as easy on them as he liked and yet they would still somehow manage to lose money again and again. It was like they were _demanding_ that he take it??

He’d even started to feel sorry for some of them, but even after trying to half-heartedly wave them away from his little table for several rounds, they had still been so insistent that their luck was going to change.

But finally, _finally_ , they were leaving him to count his gold in peace. Hopefully they still had funds enough left to pay for what they had come here for. From the looks of his winnings, Imayoshi was going to get a healthy pay-out either way. And he’d managed to make quite the pretty penny himself.

Himuro chanced a glance over his shoulder at the bar, to where the innkeeper himself seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Aomine Daiki –a man whose very presence could set even other Heroes on edge. He’d seen him fight in the Arena a few times –and he had seen what a storm that man could be. His strength was almost tangible; breathing as he breathed –and the magic in his veins could almost be felt on the air –but at the moment he didn’t seem to be a threat.

In fact, if anything, he seemed almost dismissive –as if the other tavern-goers were inconsequential to him. Invisible. Barely more than dust upon the tables.

Himuro didn’t like it; his senses had taught him to always be wary of storms; especially when dangerous men seemed calm –but Imayoshi didn’t seem particularly concerned, so he allowed himself to relax slightly. He didn’t intend to be here much longer, after all. It was already getting on into the afternoon, and he’d already lingered here longer than he’d intended. That, and the weather was taking a turn for the worse and no one in his right mind wanted to be out in Darkwood during a storm. It brought out wisps and Hobbes and made for quite the rotten trip.

Of course, Taiga would have a blast, no doubt.

If he _ever_ turned up, that was.

It wasn’t unexpected. Taiga tended to have a bit of a problem with punctuality. It had been naïve of Himuro to think that because this quest belonged to his little brother, that they would actually be able to leave on time. And the gods knew that Taiga would put off leaving for Deepwood for as long as possible.

Finally, he was rewarded for his patience (one couldn’t be well acquainted with the company of both Taiga and Atsushi without having extensive reserves of such a thing), by the sound of familiar, heavy footsteps on the stairs. Resting his chin in his hand, he turned an expectant eye to the staircase, where, after a few moments had passed, his brother’s familiar face came into view.

Taiga was looking a little flushed around the ears; his red hair somewhat more of a mess than usual, and his face glowing from what could only have been the sweet touch of a lover. And he looked more than a little startled to catch sight of Himuro waiting for him at a table near the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him rather knowingly.

“T-Tatsuya??” he fumbled, once his initial surprise had given way to words.

“Well, well, Taiga,” Himuro remarked conversationally; a small, almost smug smile crossing his face, “What a surprise to find you here.” From the way Taiga glared at him and slunk down into the seat beside him, he needed to work on his surprised face.

“W-What are you doing here?” Taiga hissed.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Himuro replied, feigning surprise, but then glancing pointedly over Taiga’s shoulder to where a particularly flushed, rather dishevelled looking whore had just made an appearance on the stairs. She blushed when she caught sight of Taiga –which either meant that she was quite the newbie, or his little brother was really quite a man. Either way, Himuro decided not to linger on it, opting to add slightly teasingly, “…But I think we both already know the answer.” He smiled in the way only big brothers can, when they have caught their little brother doing something their mother would scold them for.

“Does Alex know you’re here?” he inquired smugly, and chuckled to himself when Taiga looked suitably guilty.

“Uh…no – _wait –_ does she know _you’re_ here?” Taiga shot back, just as smugly.

“…Touché,” Himuro conceded with a shrug, “…But I’m just here in passing,” he added lightly, “To accompany a Hero to Deepwood. _At his request_.” He raised an eyebrow rather pointedly and a little reproachfully, and Taiga at least had the sense to look a little sheepish.

“Oh,” he muttered in understanding, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “I uhh….” He coughed, and glanced away, “…Lost track of time.” Himuro couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at that –fondly and companionably. He’d missed him.

“…Apparently.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

* * *

 

 

Oh, that wasn’t good.

The accusative growl rang out through the tavern –cutting through the tavern’s ambience; loud and deliberate, and causing the drunken singing to come to a most untimely halt. A few in the crowd dared to eye the speaker, but none dared to meet the gaze of the man he was addressing.

Imayoshi grimaced, sparing Wakamatsu a scathing, somewhat reproachful glance, as Aomine’s mug stilled partway to his mouth; eyes growing irritated and stormy. 

Undeterred by the barkeep’s warning, Wakamatsu took another step closer, and the annoyed glint in Aomine’s eyes grew more dangerous.

 _Of course he’s causing a scene,_ Imayoshi sighed to himself, shaking his head as he assessed the situation. The blonde was still approaching the bar, anger and annoyance clearly painted across his face, and Aomine appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, ignoring him –at least for the meantime, which was reassuring. But –and Imayoshi would never admit this –he was definitely keeping an eye trained on the swords that Aomine carried at his back; and wary of any sign that they were about to be drawn.

Bloodstains were a nightmare to clean up.

The other occupants of the bar seemed to be steering clear of the situation –most appearing quite eager to receive a key for a room upstairs so that they could avoid becoming involved –or being caught in any crossfire. They were emptying their pockets at end of the bar and impatiently waiting for Sakurai to hand over their keys. The bards too, apparently reading the atmosphere, had made themselves scarce and had retreated to a table by the fire to tune their instruments.

The only occupants that didn’t seem all that concerned with the present situation were the two sitting in the furthest corner of the room; deep in amicable conversation. Himuro was still somewhat tense –but that was to be expected considering his line of work –but was toying with the gold coins still lying on the table, while his companion…

_Well, now._

Imayoshi resisted the urge to sigh dramatically as he recognised just who that companion was; grudgingly resigned to the complications that were no doubt destined to arise.

How excellent. Just what the evening needed. It wasn’t like he wanted to keep his establishment standing, or anything.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi! Aomine!” Wakamatsu growled; determined to draw Aomine’s attention and confront him, “Where have you been? Momoi’s been sick with worry, you know??” He watched tanned fingers clench around his mug, and saw Aomine’s shoulders tense. Good –he was listening. “Hey! Are you listening to me?” Wakamatsu reached out and grabbed his shoulder in irritation.

Almost immediately, blue eyes brimming with angry electricity turned to glare at him –cold and condescending.

“I’m giving you one chance to get your hands off me.”

“ –She hasn’t heard from you in months!” Wakamatsu snapped, “There were times when she was worried you were dead! You haven’t been back to the Guild or the Arena and –”

Wakamatsu never even saw the fist coming.

He reeled backwards in pain, clutching at his face as Aomine rounded on him, eyes narrowed and stool clattering to the ground.

“I warned you,” he drawled coolly, “Don’t touch me again.”

“ – _Bastard_ ,” Wakamatsu coughed, glaring up at him defiantly, and wiping a thin trickle of blood away from his nose. “Who do you think you are? You’re a _Hero_ for fuck’s sake –act like one!”

No one saw Aomine move, but in an instant, Wakamatsu was doubled over, clutching his guts and wheezing, with Aomine coolly lowering his leg from a well-placed kick. Wakamatsu’s eyes were bitter, as he glared up at his assailant with teeth gritted in pain.  

“ –I-Imayoshi…” he grunted, “Tell this guy –” Anything else that he had been about to say suddenly caught in his throat, and Imayoshi was forcibly reminded of just how futile it had really been keeping a watchful eye on Aomine’s weapons as the edge of a blade found a home tucked neatly against Wakamatsu’s chin, tight and threatening. And Aomine’s eyes were disdainful, and as cold as that blade when he spoke.

“Lecture me about being a Hero when you’re stronger than me.”

“…You brat….”

Imayoshi knew that look in Wakamatsu’s eyes.

“Sakurai, if you would?”

Wakamatsu was lucky that he was fast, else his head might have parted ways with his neck the instant he drew his sword to turn Aomine’s aside. Blade met blade; a terrible note ringing out as steel grated upon steel. The block gave Wakamatsu time enough to step back from the strike and gather himself, taking in a deep breath and preparing to defend himself again.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The next strike came out of nowhere, and even though Wakamatsu was barely quick enough to parry, there was something inelegant in the strike –like Aomine was merely trying to swat away a particular persistent fly. Gods, it incensed him.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the sound of swords clashing, rather than the raised voices that caught Kagami’s attention. Tavern gatherings were rowdy affairs –men were always bragging or brawling or braying merrily in a most unmusical manner –but the distinct sound of weapons trading blows was pretty unfamiliar in such a setting.

“Hmm?” Himuro remarked, seeming to notice Kagami’s attention wandering. He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see a chair go flying across the room and any common-folk remaining clearing the way for two blade-wielding blurs to clash. “Oh? Looks like trouble,” he added as a small blur hurdled the bar and made a beeline for the commotion.

“Tatsuya, what’s going on over th–” Kagami began to inquire, half-rising from his seat, only for his words to be cut off by a two huge crashes as both fighters slammed into different walls; having been flung across room in opposite directions by some unseen, magical force. He followed Tatsuya’s gaze to the small man standing in the middle of the room with his hands raised, and terror mixed with caginess in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sakurai,” Imayoshi’s voice could be heard remarking flatly from behind the bar, “Wakamatsu, refrain from provoking him again, would you?”

“Imayoshi, you know that bastard –” Wakamatsu gritted out, before being silenced by a particular dry look from the bartender. Kagami stared at him for a moment, watching him gather himself up and crossly dust himself off –and then couldn’t help but follow his somewhat hostile gaze to the figure who was peeling himself out of the sizeable dent in the wall near where he and Tatsuya had been sitting.

He froze.

“Aomine?” he deadpanned flatly, eyes narrowing as he stood; body tensing and ready for a fight, especially considering that Aomine was still holding his blade and didn’t seem all that reluctant to use it.

Aomine’s gaze snapped up to meet his at the sound of his name, and incredulity blossomed in his eyes as his lip curled in genuine disbelief.

“Kagami??” he drawled flatly, rolling his shoulders and visibly and patronisingly loosening his grip on his blade –an action that roused Kagami’s competitiveness with a spark of anger. “What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” he added with a mocking jeer, “Did Imayoshi need some beetles cleared out of the barns?” His tone was condescending, like he was speaking to a child, and Kagami detested it, “Or are you just lost?”

“I don’t do that sort of shit anymore and you know it,” he snapped back in irritation, hackles rising as they always seemed to when Aomine Daiki was concerned, “…And I’m not lost.”

“Oh?” Aomine sounded sceptical, “…So they’re finally letting you do _real_ Quests now, are they?” he jeered down his nose at him with a superior smirk that Kagami wanted to punch off his face. “You sure you can handle it?”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed at the insinuation. He didn’t like being underestimated –didn’t like being mocked; especially by this guy. It might be a different time –a different situation –but his eyes were still the same as they’d been back then –still glassy with that same arrogant, almost distasteful lustre that Kagami remembered staring up at from the dirt of the Arena, wounded and covered in his own blood and the blood of monsters, and filled with the rage of defeat. _Back then_ , he had fallen in the dirt –suffered a crushing defeat, and been forced to take his scorn in front of thousands.

Not again.

 _Never again_.

“I can handle anything,” he assured him defiantly, glaring deep into his eyes –confident and unflinching, and adding, almost as a challenge, “…And any _one_.”

“Really?” Aomine snorted flatly, before smirking sarcastically, “Is that why you’re here? You wanna prove that you’re a _man_?” He took a step closer, expression smug and suggestive as he inclined his head in the direction of the whores who had been brave enough to linger downstairs in the hopes of business. “Can you even get it up?” Kagami’s nose flared at the cheap shot and tensed.

“I don’t need to prove I’m a man,” he retorted coolly, his eyes hooding as he mirrored Aomine’s step forward so that they were well on the way to being in each other’s personal space –a definite threat and unspoken challenge sparking something dangerous in the air, “…Albion already knows it.”

That comment seemed to catch Aomine off guard, and his eyes narrowed cagily. A competitive light glinted in Kagami’s red eyes and he smirked haughtily, rather enjoying the confused look on the other Hero’s face as he spoke,

“…You’re not the only one who’s beaten the Arena, you know?”

There was a long moment of silence, before Aomine reacted, scoffing dismissively and nose wrinkling distastefully as he glanced aside, “ –You think just because you and Tetsu –”

“Kuroko wasn’t there,” Kagami cut him off flatly, making sure to move closer; drawing himself up to his full height –an imposing sight to lesser men. But of course, Aomine didn’t waver. However, his lips tightened as Kagami’s smirk widened, “…I took on the Arena, and I beat it; _alone_.”

“…So what?” Aomine drawled back, unimpressed.

“ _So_ , you better watch out,” Kagami growled in a low voice; determined and full of fire and glaring with such heat that for a moment, he could’ve sworn that, for a moment, deep in the back of Aomine’s eyes, he saw a flicker of light. But then the irritation of a king whose retainers are overstepping their boundaries flared up in Aomine’s face, and a sudden rush of adrenalin surged through Kagami’s body like heat. Something in the air shifted, and he felt Tatsuya tense behind him; sensing a fight.

If it was a fight that Aomine was looking for, then there was no chance that Kagami would deny him one.

“ –Tch, don’t go acting all tough,” Aomine sneered; a warning and a dare at the same time, “You think that just because you killed a couple of things bigger than beetles, we’re in the same league?” His lip curled, and he straightened arrogantly; cold aggression emanating from him and the air almost crackling with magical energy. “ –Because you’re nowhere near –”

“I was faster than you,” Kagami smirked, cutting him off once again. And this time it seemed to render Aomine speechless. “Those records you’d set? I broke ‘em. Three.” He grinned, not without pride –and took a bit of glee at rubbing his triumph in Aomine’s smug bastard face. He deserved it, too. “Three rounds, Aomine. Three rounds I completed faster than you ever did.” He licked his lips, eyes narrowing in anticipation, “…So tell me again how weak you think I am?”

“…You trying to start something, Kagami?” Aomine snapped, stepping forwards and a burst of magical energy –not unlike that which had sent him and Wakamatsu flying some time earlier –radiating from him unbidden, and forcing Kagami back a pace, “You’re just going to lose again.”

“Fight me and we’ll see,” Kagami challenged, with heat. And for a moment there, the Bordello was filled with a heavy, tense silence; the two Heroes warily refusing to break eye contact –staring and waiting.

And then, in an instant, the scene changed.

 

* * *

 

 

It was difficult to tell who moved first. Maybe it was Aomine, striking out with his blade with intent to draw blood –or maybe it was Kagami, drawing his blade and retaliating.

Then again, maybe it was Sakurai and Himuro, who had been watching the exchange with increasing apprehension, and who knew that sooner or later, the pair of Heroes would come to blows of potentially devastating magnitude.

But when the whirlwind of dust cleared, it was quite the scene.

Both Aomine and Kagami were frozen mid-strike, blades raised but their attacks halted before they could connect. Kagami cursed the hand gripping his wrist; restraining his sword arm, and tried to break free. But that merely made those fingers tighten obligingly, and the thin knife against his jugular pressed against his throat a little harder in warning. His free hand was alight with intense red flames –magically brought forth and ready for a fiery assault _if only Tatsuya would get out of the way_.

“Taiga, stop,” Himuro ordered coolly, eyeing the growing flames in the palm of Kagami’s hand and eyeing him sternly.

“Tell _him_ to stop,” Kagami shot back, glaring over at Aomine only to find irritated blue eyes glinting not at him, but at the small, mousy-haired man standing before him, with a short-bow drawn to its fullest and the arrow resting at Aomine’s throat.

“Ryou?!” Aomine snapped, “What are you doing??”

“I-I’m sorry, A-Aomine-san!” Sakurai babbled, his words rushed, but his hands unfailingly steady, “I’m sorry, but Imayoshi-san doesn’t allow…I’m sorry I got in your way!”

“Then move.” Electricity crackled dangerously in the air, and although Sakurai too noticed the blue sparks of magically summoned lightning dancing across Aomine’s knuckles, he stood his ground.

“Boys, boys,” Imayoshi tittered disapprovingly, leaning on the bar and surveying the situation with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, “Take it outside, would you?” He reproachfully looked down over his glasses at Kagami, “…I’d appreciate if you didn’t set anything on fire this time, Kagami.”

“ –That was Midorima’s fault –”

“Taiga, would you settle down?” Himuro advised flatly, glancing over Sakurai’s shoulder and giving Aomine an equally warning look, “We’re all friends here. We don’t want trouble.”

“P-Please put your blade down,” Sakurai suggested to Aomine, eyes wide but resolute, his grip on his arrow still unwavering. Neither Kagami nor Aomine spoke for a long moment; glaring at each other over those who were making an effort to restrain them or at least prevent them from harming each other.

“Imayoshi!” Wakamatsu hissed urgently, “…Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“Who, me?” Imayoshi remarked in surprise, and gave in when Wakamatsu gave him a strained look. “Fine, fine,” he finally relented with a sigh, “You two? Maim each other all you like, but I’d appreciate it if you refrained from damaging my property.” He gestured obligingly and almost insistently towards the door.

An uncomfortable and heavy silence followed, where the entire tavern seemed to wait with bated breath for someone to move –for someone to break the tension and reassure them that no one was going to die before their eyes.

“Hmph,” Aomine eventually snorted, drawing back and his sword dropping to hang loosely at his side once more. Kagami warily relaxed again, the fire in his left hand dissolving into the air since Imayoshi had made it clear that fire magic wasn’t welcome in his establishment. He huffed out hot air, making to sheath his sword at a sharp look from Tatsuya, but then Aomine yawned mockingly, offhandedly adding, “Like you’re even worth it,” and his pride and competitive streak reared their heads.

“That’s it, you bastard! You’re on!”

 

* * *

 

 

“They’re going to kill each other,” Wakamatsu deadpanned, leaning on the frame of the front door and sipping on his ale resignedly as he gazed at the scene outside, “That’s it. _This_ is it. This time someone’s going to end up dead.”

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic,” Imayoshi sighed wearily, rolling his eyes as he counted his way through the gold that Himuro had so kindly procured for him, “They’ve been at it for years. What’s one more fight?” He shrugged dismissively, choosing to tune out the sounds of fighting that were filling the courtyard; aggressive yelling and sounds of blades beating against each other.

“…Who knows?” Himuro remarked conversationally, coming up beside Wakamatsu and venturing out onto the porch to observe what was going on, “Maybe Taiga will win this time.”

“Hah!” Wakamatsu snorted, earning himself a reproachful look from the other man. He shrugged apologetically, gesturing towards the courtyard, “Don’t get me wrong; I like the kid –but I know who I’d be putting my money on.” It pissed him off, too. It pissed him off that there was no one in Albion who fought quite like Aomine Daiki.

As much as Wakamatsu hated to admit it, he was strong, and watching him fight was like seeing lightning dance across a twilight sky. On one hand, it was entrancing –brilliant and powerful, and on the other…it was humbling, and could make a man feel very small.

And yet, he had never been too daunting for Kagami Taiga.

Down in the courtyard, they were little more than two blurs chasing each other with the intensity of a forest fire. Kagami’s eyes were ablaze, and magical heat was seeping from his very being, wilting the plants around him and singeing Aomine when he got too close. His steps were light and agile for someone of his size, and each strike swung with all his might; every parry felt like it made the earth shake, and every blow as though he was trying to tear the very fabric of the world. Raw strength; unyielding and indomitable –a power that refused to be ignored and which demanded to returned in kind. This was not the same man who had nearly faced death at the hands of Aomine Daiki in the Arena, only a few short years ago. He was refusing to be trifled with, this time –goading him to reveal his true strength.

 But try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get past Aomine’s guard.

It was like a dance. A violent and dangerous dance one at that –one that was spontaneous and fluid and captivated its audience. They forced each other to move across the courtyard; sometimes resisting and blocking, and sometimes dancing beyond reach.

Aomine drew first blood.

The wound was shallow, but wept profusely. But other than cursing himself for allowing Aomine to land a blow, Kagami barely acknowledged it. He steeled himself and lurched forwards for another attack –faking to one side and then striking at the other. But Aomine’s reflexes were as fast as ever, and he smirked as he ducked aside. If anything, that seemed to incense Kagami –spurring him on; his pride rearing and his spirit still unbroken in the face of Aomine’s speed and strength.

When their blades clashed head on, the metal shrieked and cried in protest, and their bodies shuddered and quivered from the strain as they struggled to overwhelm the other and swing the fight in their favour.

All of a sudden, Kagami went tumbling to the ground, and had to roll to avoid losing his head. A well-placed kick from Aomine sent his sword skidding across the stones and had Kagami scrambling after it.

“Just give in, already,” Aomine drawled, rolling his eyes and going so far as to pause long enough to allow Kagami to regain his weapon and stagger to his feet. “Face it –there’s no you’re gonna bea –” Before he could finish, he was suddenly careening backwards as Kagami lunged forwards again, angrily declaring, “Don’t look down on me!”

There was shock and something that might have been confusion evident in Aomine’s face –and Wakamatsu had to hand it to Kagami; he was persistent, if anything. And, to his credit, this time around, he’d kept up with Aomine’s attacks far longer than any man he’d ever seen before, and still had all his limbs intact. Even if he was a fool for thinking he could ever truly stand toe-to-toe with _Aomine_ Daiki, it was hard not to admire him, even a little.

A huge explosion of duelling magical energy suddenly went off; and fire, smoke, and lightning filled the air, scorching the courtyard’s paving and the lungs of anyone unlucky enough to be too close. Wakamatsu hacked and spluttered as he flung an arm up to shield his mouth from the stinging ash on the wind, eyes watering as he watched the fight rage on. Neither Aomine nor Kagami seemed to be affected; neither of them willing to back down.

 

* * *

 

 

Imayoshi sighed to himself as there was another explosion from somewhere outside and more soot was carried inside on the wind.

“Wakamatsu, if you insist on watching, would you at least shut the door?” he sighed, wrinkling his nose as the scent of what was undoubtedly burning flesh wafted in with the ash.

“Oh come on,” Wakamatsu grumbled, “You’re not even a _little_ curious? _Concerned_?” He sighed when Imayoshi made no reply, turning at the sound of footsteps creaking down the stairs. A few moments later, a blonde woman came into view, stretching and stifling a bleary yawn.

“Hmm? What’s all the noise about?” Alex inquired sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she slowly ambled towards the bar.

“Alex, were you sleeping on the job again?” Imayoshi sighed reproachfully, looking down at her over his glasses. She waved away his disapproval dismissively, and started helping herself to the ale taps. “ –Alex…”

“Don’t worry,” she rolled her eyes, “It’s quiet up there. Well, in the hallways, at least. What’s with all the noise?”

“See for yourself,” Imayoshi replied with a heavy sigh, gesturing towards the door. Tankard in hand, Alex got about two curious steps closer before her expression brightened and her mouth dropped open into an excited smile when she saw just who was standing in the doorway.

“Tatsuya!” she exclaimed, ale sloshing over the ground in her haste to greet him with in an exuberant embrace. Himuro, with a long-suffering grimace, side stepped her quite gracefully, and instead offered her a polite smile.

“Alex,” he greeted, “It’s nice to see you.”

“ _It’s nice to see you_ , he says,” Alex scoffed, pouting over at Imayoshi as though expecting some sort of sympathy. Finding none, she turned to Himuro once more, adding, “Is that how you greet your old teacher?? It’s been too long!” She sighed, stepping back a pace and eyeing him up and down rather proudly, “You’re looking like quite the Hero these days.”

“I am a Hero, Alex.”

“And so you are,” she chuckled, making to ruffle his hair as one might a small child, but Himuro was having none of it, and politely swatted her hand away. She laughed at that. “Oh, it seems like just yesterday that you were a little brat begging me to teach you to fight…”

“Oh, Alex…” Himuro sighed wearily, with not without a touch of fondness.

“ –How time has flown!”

Himuro decided not to remind her that they’d seen each other at the Bower Lake spring festival –and again at the Arena when the new challengers had been announced across all of Albion and Taiga’s name had been amongst them. She would have never missed a public fight of theirs –and Taiga’s most recent…well, it had been quite spectacular, to say the least.

He also knew that she sometimes liked to drop by the Guild unannounced to try and surprise him and his brother –although that tended to be Taiga more often than not, seeing as Himuro, being older, wiser and generally thought to be more experienced, was, up until recently, usually the one out across the land on more lengthy, dangerous Quests. Staying in touch with family was sometimes a whole Quest in itself –but as busy as Hero life could sometimes be, Himuro did take the time to drop by her old residence in Bower Lake from time to time.

“It’s really so good to see you here,” Alex was gushing, and although Himuro shared the sentiment, he couldn’t help but wish that the circumstances had been a little different. Sure, he wasn’t here as a _guest_ –as Imayoshi would put it –but what son wanted their mother –adoptive or not –to see them setting foot in a whorehouse?

“I worry about you boys, you know?” she continued, shaking her head, “I know how Quests can be. And I know how you two can be! Always going looking for trouble and all –”

“We know how to take care of ourselves,” Himuro assured her with a small smile, “You trained us well, remember?”

“I know, I know,” she sighed proudly, “And I know you both always make it out, but it’s still always good to see you both alive and well –Imayoshi!” she suddenly called out crossly, “How could you not tell me that Tatsuya was here?”

“You know I pride myself on my discretion.”

“ –Oh, _liar_.”

“Ah, Alex,” Himuro coughed, “It’s good to see you, and all, but I must confess; I’m not here because of you.” Alex turned to stare at him for a long moment, apparently assessing him in that way that women do. She must have apparently figured something out, because finally, she sighed, almost in disappointment as she put on what she must have thought was a stern expression, hands on hips.

“You hear that, Imayoshi?” she chided, shaking her head, “How sad that the youngsters these days are squandering their youth.”

Himuro was confused.

And it must have showed, because she looped an arm around him, eyes fogging over almost wistfully as she lamented, “Oh Tatsuya…you’re still so young! You’re meant to be off sneaking out into the hay fields with your sweetheart –not coming to places like this!”

He stared at her for a long moment, puzzled, until he finally figured out what on earth she was talking about.

 _Oh_.

“Alex, don’t worry,” he sighed, “It’s not like that. I’m just passing through –” He sensed her next question almost immediately, and decided not to open that line of inquiry, “ –And _no_ , before you ask; I do not have a ‘sweetheart’. And I’m not even that young anymore.” He knew his last point had been barely worth speaking aloud –no matter how old he got he was sure that Alex would still be convinced that he and Taiga were still the children they’d been when she’d met them.

He also wasn’t going to mention that her precious baby Taiga was the one ‘squandering his youth’.

“Oh,” Alex commented shortly, releasing him.

“Taiga and I were just…passing through,” he informed her airily, “We’re heading for Deepwood –”

“Wait, wait,” she halted him urgently, “Taiga’s here too?? _Imayoshi_ –”

“ –Who do you think is causing all the commotion?” Imayoshi muttered, his comment punctuated with a particularly aggressive shout and a crackling explosion. Alex’s eyes widened in disbelief and she was promptly greeted with a fresh wave of soot as she ducked her head out of the door.

“ –Kagami and Aomine are at it again,” Wakamatsu deadpanned helpfully, and Alex let out a weary chuckle as she caught sight of a familiar redhead being bodily flung across the courtyard and slamming into a nearby tree. An instant later, a second body was on him; blade cutting through the air with intent to kill. But Taiga was undaunted; completely focused and ferocious as he dove aside and the sword buried itself in the trunk of the tree. Had he hesitated, he would have been skewered.

“That sounds like Taiga, all right.”

Her expression softened fondly as he took advantage of his opponent’s weapon being firmly lodged in the tree to strike, but then came Aomine’s lightning –a monstrous bolt fired from his left hand and which forced Taiga to retreat or be fried.

“How’s he doing?” Alex inquired, sipping on a mouthful of ale as she watched Aomine snarl angrily at his trapped blade, and then wrench it forth with one mighty heave –just in time to stop Taiga’s next charge.

“Well, he’s not dead or mortally wounded,” Tatsuya informed her honestly, “And they’ve been going at it for quite a while now.”

“So, quite well then?” Alex mused quietly, gazing down at her pupil, standing down there covered in dirt and streaks of his own blood, but with eyes that blazed and a spirit that would not be denied. And where Taiga was panting and his arms were shaking; Aomine too was breathing hard, and although he might not bear any visible wounds, his clothes were ripped and if nothing else, something seemed _different_. Alex had watched these two fight many times over the years. But something had changed. There was a sharpness in his eyes and a looseness in his movements that wasn’t listlessness…but something else. She chuckled.

“Looks pretty evenly matched,” she remarked fondly, giving Wakamatsu a sly look.

“Maybe it looks that way,” Wakamatsu remarked flatly, as though the words physically pained him to have to say, “ –But anyone can see that Aomine’s still not fighting with his full strength,” he added blankly, gazing down at the courtyard and seeing as everyone else could see, that Aomine’s left hand was empty, and the infamous second sword that was testimony to his strength, remained securely sheathed at his back.

“ –And if he can’t get him to do that, then there’s no way he’ll ever be a match for Aomine –let alone stronger.”

As if on cue, Kagami’s sword went flying as Aomine drove on forwards –but this time he was given no chance to retrieve it before he was under attack again. Without his weapon, Kagami faced him head on; ducking aside from the next blow and striking back with his own hands; fists both aflame. Aomine mustn’t have been expecting such a bold tactic, because there was surprise written all over his face as a blazing fist caught him on the chin and knocked him off balance.

The spectators all winced as they heard the crack of knuckles against bone, and the hiss of burning flesh.

Himuro sighed, and Wakamatsu gave him a sympathetic look of understanding.

“Looks like you’re really not getting to Deepwood any time soon,” he commented flatly.

“Indeed,” Himuro exhaled, rolling his eyes and rubbing his forehead, “Taiga can never just…keep things professional. He’s just _has_ to –” He trailed off, and merely gestured down at the courtyard to very much prove his point. Back at the bar, Imayoshi snorted in agreement.

“I know the feeling,” Wakamatsu muttered, “Aomine’s _always_ running off and causing trouble, and when we _need_ him to run off, he _refuses_ , and then it causes _me_ trouble –”

“Tell me about it,” Himuro chuckled dryly, “Taiga gets…” He paused, assessing the fight to decide what words to use, “…Caught up in things.”

“Aomine’s the same,” Wakamatsu grumbled, running a hand through his hair and rolling his eyes, “Although those _things_ are usually a stranger’s sheets, but I get your meaning.” 

“You’re talking like you’re the ones losing gold over them,” Imayoshi pointed out, still not having moved from the bar but apparently keen to contribute.

“Oh, I’ve lost gold because of them,” both Himuro and Wakamatsu assured him, before glancing at each other and then chuckling slightly, “Being late for Quests?” Himuro queried.

“Constantly,” Wakamatsu sighed wearily, “Damage control?”

“You know it.”

“ –Oh, so they’re a little hot-headed,” Alex interrupted, shushing them all dismissively. They just stared at her incredulously, seeing as _hot-headed_ didn’t really seem to cut it, by a long shot. She just smiled at them gently. “Don’t be so hard on them,” she advised, giving both men a soothing pat on the shoulder, “Kids will be kids, after all –” Her eyes softened, “Let them play.”

“They’re not _playing_ ,” Wakamatsu exclaimed disbelievingly, looking at Alex as though she’d just gone mad and was watching an entirely different scene, “They’re _duelling_. To like, _the death!_ ”

“Alex…” Himuro sighed, in the tone of a parent who finally has to break some bad news to their child, “…I hate to break it to you, but they’re not kids anymore.” But the soft expression on Alex’s face didn’t fade. Instead, she just smiled as she gazed down at the courtyard, and saw her Taiga staring down his opponent with such ferocious resolve.

His blade was back in his hand, and his chest was heaving with exertion, and the flames on his hand were wavering; struggling to remain alight but refusing to smoulder. He had barely registered that he was being watched –all his attention was on Aomine, backed up against the fence that overlooked the pond. And although he stared down his opponent as a man who had fallen, and who had clawed his way back up after a crushing defeat, he also gazed at him with awe and excitement, and fought with life in his eyes and a grin on his lips.

And Aomine, bracing himself as Taiga charged forwards with an almighty roar –his eyes too, were drawn to his opponent, like moth to flame; as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away even if he wished it. And Alex knew his kind of Hero, too –she remembered little Aomine Daiki and his big dreams and the energy he radiated when he fought.

“I don’t know, Tatsuya,” Alex mused with a small smile, as she watched Aomine parry Taiga’s blow and dodge at the last second, swerving out of danger as Taiga lost his footing and went tumbling straight through the fence. And he spun as he fell, shock written all over his face and a hand reaching up for purchase on anything –anything to save him from plummeting into the chilly pond water below. But all his fingers grasped was the shirt of the man who had lingered at the broken fence long enough to gloat with laughter.

“They look like kids to me.”

With an unceremonious, thunderous splash, both Heroes toppled headfirst into the pond.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi, get the fuck off me!” Kagami growled in annoyance, spitting out a mouthful of pond water as he tried to disentangle himself from Aomine and crawl up the nearest bank at the same time.

“ _You_ get off me!” Aomine snapped back crossly, shoving Kagami’s head underwater to push him out of his way. He cursed, his drenched clothes hanging heavy and fucking _cold_ as he dragged himself up to standing –only to have his feet pulled out from under him. The chill of the water knocked his breath out of him all over again as he was submerged for a second time.

He broke the surface with a string of particularly choice curses, spitting out water and brushing his hair back off his face and immediately made it his mission in life to knock Kagami off his feet in retaliation.

“What the _fuck_ was that for??” Kagami snarled, after Aomine was successful and the redhead was lying in the cold water, shivering and trying to drag his body upright when all the water in his clothes seemed to want to prevent that. Kagami spat out another mouthful of water, and glared most vehemently when he found a dripping sword resting at his throat. His mouth fell open.

“You dirty cheat!” he spat, and Aomine’s lips curled into a smirk as he shrugged.

“I’d won anyway,” he sniffed.

“Like _hell_ you had,” Kagami growled insistently, and promptly yanked Aomine’s feet out from under him. There was another ungodly splash as he went tumbling backwards into the water and his sword went flying uselessly to the shore. He rose a few seconds later with a gasp; with vengeful eyes and his bedraggled hair sticking to his face, never mind the fact that they had been fighting for what felt like hours, and that his slowly freezing body was protesting with all it had. 

“You are _so_ dead!”

 

* * *

 

 

“I see what you mean,” Wakamatsu sighed, gazing down at the pond and seeing the pair of them wrestling to try and drown the other in the shallows –swords forgotten and the deadly intensity from only a few moments earlier having been extinguished by the pond water. Two powerful Heroes who had been fighting to protect their pride and prove their superiority, had fallen into that pond –only to crawl out cursing, as the brash, hot-headed youngsters they were, or should’ve been.

Alex chuckled to herself, hearing yet another squawk, followed by a splash and a plethora of curses that would have made any monk cry and any sailor proud.

“Sakurai?” she called out cheerfully as she began heading down the porch steps towards the pond, “Have some dinner for them both when they’re ready to come in, on me.”

The pair of them were still struggling by the time Alex and Himuro made it to the shoreline –but panting heavily, and very waterlogged. Himuro couldn’t help but laugh slightly as he drew closer –looking at them, no one would have suspected that they were Heroes, they were so sodden and comedic looking. 

Taiga looked up at the sound of laughter, and his eyes widened in shock as he managed to finally scramble away from Aomine –finally choosing to abandon their petty brawl in favour of greeting his family.

“A-Alex??” he exclaimed in surprise, and Himuro couldn't help but hide a smile at how guilty he suddenly sounded, "I uhh…Alex??”

“Good to see you, Taiga,” Alex chuckled, holding out a hand for him to take. Himuro too, extended an arm to help lug his brother from the pond, and with a torrent of water rolling off him, he finally managed to set foot on dry land again, “ –Seeing you fight like that made me proud, you know?” She grinned at him, and ruffled his wet hair, “But come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze, okay?”

“Um….what?” Kagami stammered, his teeth beginning to chatter.

“I have some spare clothes you can change into,” Tatsuya assured him, and then leaned in close under the guise of wrapping an arm around his shoulder to add, “…And don’t worry, I won’t tell Alex about your _fraternising_.” He smiled at him politely, “…At least not yet.”

 

* * *

 

 

Aomine refused to admit that there was a lump in his throat as he struggled to drag himself out of the pond with all his armour weighing him down. He refused to admit that he felt a pang of bitterness somewhere in his chest when hands had reached out to help Kagami from the water and there had been no one to offer one to him. And he certainly would not admit that there was heat running through his veins and that his body was still swimming in unfamiliar adrenaline.

So, he pushed those feelings down, and turned his gaze away from the backs of the three people trudging ahead of him towards the Bordello, arm-in-arm.

He shivered.

Instead, he retrieved his sword, and sheathed it, and with sodden, squelchy steps, he made his own way up to the porch. A kind of ache had set in –he wasn’t sure if it was his body or something else. But he knew that for the first time in a long time, he felt out of breath.

He clenched his hands into fists as he stalked forwards, eyes hooded and his jaw set. Wakamatsu tried to speak to him as he approached, but he paid him no mind, nor to the fact that his boots left damn, slightly muddy footprints on the porch and on the carpet as he entered the building. He made a beeline for the bar; ignoring whatever protests Wakamatsu had to say, and pulled out a handful of gold from his pouch, slamming it down on the bar for Imayoshi to count so that he could get the key to a room upstairs that he’d come here for in the first place.

While Imayoshi made a great show of counting his gold, his eyes distractedly raked across a few of the whores who were lingering by the fire. They were all pretty, but there were none left who were particularly his type.

No matter.

“ –Aomine!”

The call of his name distracted Aomine from his task and made him glance across to the other side of the room, to find Kagami Taiga vehemently staring him down as he tugged off his drenched shirt. Aomine’s eyes for a moment travelled to a particular scar on his abdomen; healed now, but which had obviously been deep. But it was only for a moment before he coolly stared right on back, waiting for him to say whatever meaningless thing he had to say.

“You know…” Kagami began hotly, but then seemed to acknowledge his tone and decided to keep it in check. He tried again as he pulled a shirt on over his head, and this time, he spoke calmly, and with certainty, “…Things are gonna be way different next time we meet in the Arena, you hear me?” He rolled his shoulders, and Aomine was not for the first time struck by the look in his eyes. If anything, they were fiercer than ever, and it made his fists clench tight again.

“…And you can bet on that.”

Aomine surveyed him for a long moment, before scoffing, as he turned away in feigned disinterest.

“…Is that so?” he muttered, almost to himself.

“ –There’s a meal waiting for you over there,” Imayoshi abruptly informed him, grabbing his attention and forcing him to look up into sly, beady eyes. The bartender inclined his head across the room to where Himuro was busy hanging a sopping cloak and boots up beside the hearth to dry. There was ale and bread and steaming meat stew already laid out on a table there, with Alex setting places for four. And then there was Kagami, glancing over in his direction as he set his weaponry aside, almost as if grudgingly allowing a momentary truce.

“If you want it, that is.”

But Aomine just clucked his tongue and tore his gaze away, throwing down some extra money for a meal to be brought up to him.

“I see,” Imayoshi sighed, before his tone became unusually pleasant –the tone reserved for customers, “Who’s your pleasure?” Aomine shrugged dismissively as he turned to face the whores again. Left hand still clenched at his side, he gestured with his right for the closest –a redhead with a suitably sizeable bust –to join him upstairs. Imayoshi watched him leave with a small sigh.

“…Enjoy your stay.”

Aomine hadn’t meant to, but despite himself, he found himself flinging one last look back at that table as he headed for the stairs; key clutched in hand. And he was met with red eyes staring right on back. They locked with his briefly –determined and daring –before flicking away again almost immediately, and Kagami’s words echoed loud in Aomine’s mind, ringing and ringing.

It made him finally unclench his hands when he was out of their sight. And when he did, he could help but stare at down at them, and wonder what it might mean.

 _Things are gonna be different next time_.

That was what he’d said, right?

Well, maybe he did know what it meant. Or maybe he hoped. Either way, it was just enough for something to spark in his eyes and somewhere deep down in his heart, and he felt a strange rush that just might have, _maybe_ been anticipation.  

His left hand was shaking. Like it was just itching to draw a blade.

_And just maybe, Aomine believed him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying! Ah, this chapter got a little out of hand words-wise, I'm afraid! And I have to say, I absolutely love writing Imayoshi and just can't help giving him big parts sometimes..... And for those who like reading him, rest assured, he's going to turn up again in later chapters. And I'm sorry Aomine and Kagami's fight was short --don't worry, we'll be seeing them soon, promise!
> 
> Let me know how you feel about this AU, or if there's anything that needs clarifying! 
> 
> Much love; hope to see you next chapter!  
> xx K


	5. The Life and Struggles of Kasamatsu Yukio: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise needs some life-lessons about responsibility, and Kasamatsu just so happens to be the one to teach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!! A time jump back to the days when our favourite Heroes were sixteen(ish) and innocent(ish). Or something like that!   
> Hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave a comment if you do!~
> 
> Happy reading! (And sorry it's so long!)

_Gods_ it was good to be back.

Now, Kasamatsu Yukio wasn’t one to begrudge his job or lifestyle –sure, like all apprentices he’d been brought into the fold at a young age, but actually becoming a Hero was his choice, and a duty he shouldered with pride. But mortal peril came with the territory, and sometimes dealing with that, Quest after Quest, was exhausting.

And, as it was, he’d been investigating trouble out in his hometown. Knothole Glade was notorious for being plagued with Balverine attacks –the humanoid, wolf-like creatures infesting the surrounding woods and periodically terrorizing the locals. And although Kasamatsu had grown up in the territory of such beasts –learning to hunt them and kill them –they were still dangerous predators; feral and unpredictable, and he could never rest easy until the threat had been dealt with.

And after many sleepless, bloody nights, and days spent on edge, Knothole Glade had been once again declared Balverine-free (at least for the meantime), and Kasamatsu had gratefully retired to the Guild for a well-earned rest. Tired, filthy, and with bones aching far too much for someone his age, there was nothing quite like returning to the Heroes Guild after a lengthy Quest. The feeling of safety that it offered was something that just couldn’t be found out in the wild. It was relieving to be able to set aside his worn armour without a huge amount of concern; nice to have a soft mattress to sleep on, and a solid roof overheard, and the freedom to put up his feet, practice a new song, or spend time in the library, was comforting.

It was also always heartening to return and see that it hadn’t been burned to the ground in his absence.

(Moriyama always had a new story of a near-miss, though.)

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken a very long bath and a fair amount of scrubbing, but Kasamatsu had eventually managed to rinse himself clean of all the Witchwood dirt that he had managed to accumulate over his stay. It was a stormy region; perpetually dark and muddy, and trying to keep oneself looking presentable was a futile effort. So it was refreshing on so many levels to have a decent shave and put on clean clothes –although Kasamatsu did somewhat miss the reassuring weight of his armour sometimes.

But he’d be back in it soon enough –he wasn’t the type of person to slack off, after all. While he was here, he might as well make the most of being surrounded by other strong fighters, and get some sparring in. And no doubt he’d be enlisted to oversee a few of the apprentice training sessions –and partake in a number of Moriyama-instigated drinking sessions –while he was back.

So, he figured that he best make the most of the respite before he was plunged back into chaos. And in an ideal world, that meant a peaceful afternoon with a whittling knife, his lute, and some good food.

The unfortunate thing about the Heroes Guild, though, was that it was never peaceful.

There was always something going on; Heroes and apprentices busy training –their shouts and the cracking of wooden swords echoing across the grounds; the curses and deafening, demented sounds associated with spells gone awry; young men and women gossiping and fraternising –and currently, the shouting of a very cross, frustrated Hero failing to coax a young delinquent down from a tree.

Well, _young_ was a subjective term, apparently. Sixteen year olds these days seemed to have some serious misconceptions regarding their own maturity.

And, in calling Aomine Daiki a delinquent; that really just meant that him taking an afternoon nap had beat out assisting and protecting the people of Albion in terms of priorities. By a considerable margin, no doubt.

“ –You can’t just keep disappearing into the wild, you know??” Wakamatsu was growling hotly, jabbing a finger up at the figure lolling on one of the upper branches without regard for his own safety. “ –Momoi won’t stop worrying, and _some of us_ have to keep wasting our time going out looking for you –”

“I don’t need anyone to look out for me,” Aomine snorted flatly, glaring down from where he was lounging; his eyes narrowing, “And I sure as hell never asked anyone to.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Wakamatsu snapped back irritably; a vein throbbing in his forehead, “You don’t take backup; don’t tell anyone where you’re headed –”

 “I always come back, don’t I?” Aomine drawled dismissively.

“That’s not the point!” he exclaimed with a scowl, before adding scathingly, “ –And fucking _get down_ from there! You’re going to _fall_!”

Instead of dignifying him with a response, Aomine just lazily flicked a hand, discharging an invisible magical force and sending Wakamatsu tumbling backwards a few paces. In an instant, he was back on his feet, fists clenched and jaw set and indignation flaring in his eyes as he stormed back to the base of the tree –which seemed to be a source of much amusement for the two brats reclining –at a safe distance, mind –in the roots of another tree.

Kise Ryouta was one of them –another of those disillusioned sixteen-year-olds, and probably the main reason Kasamatsu was going grey at the tender age of nineteen.

“Ahh, Aominecchi, I think you’ve made him mad…” Kasamatsu heard Kise titter, and if he’d been any closer and not holding hot stew, he might’ve kicked him for his cheek.

“Aomine…do _not_ make me come up there!” Wakamatsu warned aggressively; ignoring Kise’s cajoling, but grimacing as he gazed upwards and seemed to realise just how high the teenager had climbed. “…Do _not_ make me get someone to come up there!”

“Do your worst.” The ‘ _it won’t be enough’_ went unsaid, but was clearly implied.

Kasamatsu sighed, helping himself to a spoonful of the stew he’d been escorting to the warm afternoon air as Wakamatsu angrily ran a hand back through his hair and turned on his heel, marching back towards Kasamatsu and muttering all sorts of dark things about belligerent underlings.

“Aomine giving you trouble again?” Kasamatsu remarked dryly, as the blonde Hero drew up, looking fed up and like he’d very much like to set Aomine’s perch on fire.

“When’s he not?” Wakamatsu snorted back, the vein twitching in his temple and his hands clenching into fists. Kasamatsu gave him a resigned, sympathetic look; ever since Aomine’s apprentice days he’d been undermining Wakamatsu’s experience and generally having a lack of respect for the Heroes who had come before him –at least, the ones he perceived to be weaker than him. Which was all of them, apparently.

Wakamatsu might have then burst out into the kind of angry tirade that Kasamatsu would have preferred not to deal with on what he had been hoping was a day off –but that was halted by the approach of a young apprentice –no older than twelve –with a soot-blackened face and his cream apprentice robes hanging off him in charred tatters. The pair of Heroes must’ve looked quite the menacing sight (or maybe he remembered them from training sessions), because he promptly tried to look very small; scuffing his feet and avoiding their gaze.

“Speak up,” Kasamatsu ordered sharply, causing the smaller boy to practically jump to attention, “…And double your magic training. Your shields obviously need work.”

“Y-Yes, senpai…” the young boy immediately stammered; tugging on his charred sleeve self-consciously. “E-excuse me, senpai…” he added in a mumble, bowing his head (whether it was out of fear or respect was irrelevant) and scuttling off past them –deeper into the Guild; probably to have his minor burns tended to and get himself cleaned up. Wakamatsu watched the back of the escaping apprentice with a slightly bemused expression, before shaking his head and jerking a thumb over at the trees that he had just stormed away from.

“I swear those brats were never like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You reckon they’re talking about us, Takaocchi?” Kise remarked curiously, learning back against the tree trunk and making himself comfortable.

“No doubt,” Takao admitted with a small shrug, his sharp, grey eyes still following the path of the significantly singed apprentice scurrying off into the Guild. He wasn’t the first they’d seen in that state today, and it was a safe bet that he wouldn’t be the last.

“ –That’s like the fourth one this afternoon,” he added conversationally, his gaze dancing back to see where they were all coming from –and catching sight of another one; a little older but no less sooty –sullenly making his way towards the main building to get cleaned off. “…And there’s number five.” He sighed nostalgically, shaking his head. “I feel like we were a lot more fireproof when we were apprentices.”

“Yeah,” Kise agreed with a chuckle, “We _had_ to be, since we had magic training with Kagamicchi and Aominecchi. Remember what happened if we couldn’t cast shields back then?”

“Oh yeah!” Takao snickered, “Good times. I think.” He paused cocking his head and squinting a little as though that might help him see back into his memories, “…I think we all spent a lot of time unconscious after magic training, so it’s hard to tell. And it always took _ages_ for my eyebrows to grow back…”

“…And senpai always doubled training if we didn’t get our shields up fast enough…” Kise winced; chuckling as he sent a pitying look over at burnt-apprentice number five that was currently no doubt getting an earful from Kasamatsu about the importance of learning how to cast a shield that would defend against enemy spells. And probably getting a similar punishment.

Takao saw the look, and laughed –his expression turning curious when he noticed that the two older Heroes had just been approached by a pretty young woman with long pink hair.

“Oh?” he mused, “What does Momoi want with Kasamatsu-san?”

“ –Senpai’s talking to a girl?” Kise exclaimed in surprise, hurriedly seeking proof –but it seemed that before Momoi had managed to get a word in edgeways, Wakamatsu had ambushed her, looking disgruntled all over again, “Ah…Aominecchi –I think Wakamatsu is telling on you.”

“Tch, let him,” Aomine yawned disinterestedly, turning on his side up on his branch as though he really had no concept of just how high up he was.

“ –Why’s it so weird that Kasamatsu-san would be talking to a girl?” Takao inquired curiously, “I know for a fact that a lot of girls who were in his apprentice class think he’s quite handsome.” And some from their class, even –despite how scary he could be.

“Moriyama-senpai says that Kasamatsu-senpai is _really_ bad at talking to girls,” Kise replied, wincing as he rubbed the back of his neck a little awkwardly. He glanced back to see that Momoi seemed quite earnestly trying to converse with him, but Kasamatsu was avoiding looking her directly in the eye and responding with as few words as possible. “But I didn’t really believe him,” Kise added sheepishly, chuckling a little.

“ –Have you offered to give him a hand?” Takao suggested cheekily; teasingly nudging him in the ribs with an elbow, “ –You seem to have quite the female fan-base, after all?” It was the truth, really –as Heroes completed Quests, they became more renowned –which in turn allowed them to take on higher-profile Quests, and led to them gaining quite the supportive following in the people of Albion. And Kise’s popularity (especially among the young female population) was quite disproportional, considering how young his career as a Hero was.

But even with how sharp his eyes were reputed to be, Takao missed the way that such a comment made Kise fall uncharacteristically quiet.

His sudden, subdued expression didn’t last all that long though –a bright grin forced back in place when someone hollered out his name from across the grounds.

“Oi! Kise! You out here?” came the shout, attracting his attention over to where a familiar redhead was stomping into view and not looking entirely himself. For one thing, he wasn’t wearing his armour, and didn’t seem to be armed –very strange for Kagami Taiga, really; he usually made a habit of being ready for a fight no matter the situation –but mostly, he was looking like a sulky child who felt that they had been wrongfully scolded.

“Ooh? Kagamicchi?” Kise called back in greeting, “Over here!” Upon catching sight of the blonde, Kagami’s expression brightened, and he immediately made a beeline for them.

“Hey,” he greeted, and then seemed to realise that Kise and Takao seemed to have made themselves rather comfy amongst the roots of the tree he was currently standing under, “Uh, are you guys busy?”

“Depends,” both of them replied in sync –innocent and a touch cheeky, “Did you have something in mind?” Takao inquired curiously, and Kise looked appropriately expectant. Kagami raised an eyebrow at their reply, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the training rings, where a few Heroes could be seen busy sparring already.

“Ah, well, I wanted to get some sparring in before dinner, and I need a partner,” he informed them bluntly –making Kise stick out his lower lip and roll his eyes.

“We should’ve known….” Takao snickered, shaking his head helplessly.  

“And here I thought you wanted to do something _fun_ ,” Kise pouted. Kagami’s brow creased, as though he didn’t quite understand.

“…Sparring _is_ fun?” he replied solemnly, sounding so serious and confused that Kise couldn’t help but laugh along with Takao, leaving Kagami with narrow eyes and trying to figure out if they were making fun of him. Takao wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye, grinning up at the redhead.

“Oh, you’re unbelievable,” he chuckled good-naturedly, and then straightened, as though something had just occurred to him, “Wait, so are you and Shin-chan done already?” he inquired inquisitively.

“Hmm?” Kise cocked his head curiously, before he understood what Takao was talking about, “Oh, that’s right! Kagamicchi; you and Midorimacchi were taking the apprentices for magic training in the Guild Woods today, weren’t you?”

“Uh…” Kagami turned his head aside sheepishly, squaring his jaw, “Yeah, we were…”

“ –So _you_ were the one setting all the apprentices on fire!” Kise exclaimed in realisation, “Ah~ Just like old times…”

“Oi! That wasn’t my fault!” Kagami growled defensively, before clucking his tongue and reluctantly admitting, “…Well, not _all_ the time…” He huffed out hot air and glared at them when they started chuckling all over again.

“So, is Shin-chan done now, too?” Takao inquired, “We were gonna go hunting tonight and –” He paused, mid-sentence, when he saw Kagami’s expression darken into one of an offended, sullen child -figuring it out, “ –He kicked you out, didn’t he?”

“He _overreacted_ ,” Kagami sniffed back flatly, “I was just trying to show the kids…”

“ –You set Shin-chan on fire again, didn’t you?” Takao deadpanned, and Kagami scoffed, folding his arms across his chest moodily.

“…No,” he grumbled, before reconsidering, “…Only like…a _little_.”

Takao burst out into loud guffaws.

“Pssh, _nice one_ , Kagami,” came the taunt from somewhere above them, and Kagami leapt back a pace with a start, eyes searching the boughs and then narrowing when he caught sight of a fellow Hero lounging up in the dappled canopy like some kind of predatory cat, “Look who still can’t control his magic.”

“Oi, Aomine, what the _fuck_?” he snapped aggressively, his whole body tensing, as his pride reared, “And shut the fuck up! You set things on fire all the time –”

“Oi, oi!” Kasamatsu could be heard yelling, his voice already thick with warning, “ –If what I think is happening over there, is happening, _it better not be_!”

“Ah, ignore him, Kagamicchi,” Kise quickly soothed –the words doing very little to stop Kagami from glaring up into the tree; his eyes vehement, and something dangerous heating up in the air. Kasamatsu was right –situations involving Kagami and Aomine tended to be best diffused as quickly as possible. Kagami had a short fuse and an admittedly unsteady grasp of magical control –which had been a particularly sore point during their upbringing, and apparently still was.

“ –Do _you_ want to fight?” Kagami inquired darkly, addressing Aomine with a challenge in his voice, “I’ll take you on.”

“…I’d have more of a challenge stomping beetles,” Aomine yawned disinterestedly, “…At least they bite.” He lazily opened one eye and peered down at Kagami tauntingly, “You’d know that of course.”

“Shut up,” Kagami growled, with heat, “ –I’m done with beetle-killing Quests! I’m gonna…” What he was going to do went unsaid, seeing as Kise gave Takao a look of urgency that meant it was his turn to try and intervene. If Aomine and Kagami came to blows, they would _probably_ have to interfere –and as much as he liked a good free-for-all, starting one within the Guild boundaries would not be looked upon favourably.

“Y’know, speaking of Quests,” Takao obligingly piped up –loud enough to attract Kagami’s attention and thus hopefully prevent him from setting fire to Aomine’s tree. Or anything else, for that matter, “I’m thinking that a kinda juicy one might be in the Quest Cards, if you know what I mean?” He raised an eyebrow rather slyly, and casually gestured over to where Momoi was still busy conversing with Wakamatsu and Kasamatsu –a bundle of papers pressed to her chest, now visible.

“…What kind of Quest?” Kagami asked, irritation at Aomine obviously battling with curiosity, and the latter thankfully winning out. Kise couldn’t blame the guy –for what felt like _ages_ , new Heroes were always saddled with the crappy, low-pay, low-profile quests like finding lost animals and clearing out pests; Quests that really didn’t allow any budding Hero to showcase his true talents. And if there was anyone who wanted to prove his strength, it was Kagami Taiga.

“ _Well_ ,” Takao chuckled lightly, leaning back casually, “Let’s just say, I’ve heard rumours about a _troll_.” Kagami’s eyes widened excitedly.

“A troll??” he repeated, “Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

“ –You heard _rumours_?” Kise queried suspiciously, eyeing Takao with narrow eyes.

“Okay, fine,” the raven admitted, “I peeked at the Quest Cards, so _sue_ me.”

“So that means there _is_ a troll Quest!” Kagami exclaimed, fists clenching as he squared his jaw, “And it's gonna be _mine_!”

“Really, Kagamicchi?” Kise sighed, a little condescendingly, “You really think they’re just going to let you take on a troll? I’ll be taking it, _obviously_.”

“No _way_ , Kise!” Kagami snorted, “You _always_ get the good ones!”

“ –Oi, brats!” Wakamatsu suddenly hollered over at them as he pulled away from the discussion with Momoi. He jerked his thumb into the building, adding, “Map Room, now. We’ve got work for you –”

In an instant, Kagami was on high alert, and, sensing the challenge, Kise was on his feet just as fast, staring him down. Kagami was determined though –flicking a deadly glare up into the tree where Aomine remained unmoving, before taking off at top speed towards the main building, leaving Kise to shoot after him, yelping about how head-starts were cheating.

“Kise, that Quest is _mine_!”

 

* * *

 

 

Looking back, Kasamatsu should have realised that something was up the moment Kise let Kagami take that troll Quest. The pair of them tended to argue over Quests until they were blue in the face –the new generation was a shocker for that sort of carry on –but when Momoi had announced that Bower Lake was having a bit of trouble with a troll in recent days, Kise had been unusually quiet; giving Kagami the chance to immediately offer to take up his sword against the monster.

There had been concerns voiced about such a thing –sure, Kagami was incredibly talented with a blade –astonishingly so, really; and, according to Aida and Takao –the kinds of people who could ‘see’ such things –possessed a magical energy that was strong even by Hero standards. _But_ in saying that, said magic was…unpredictable –and there were always issues with his general recklessness and public propriety, or lack thereof…

But, Kise had insisted that Kagami was up for the challenge. Said that it wasn’t fair that Kagami(cchi) kept getting overlooked for dangerous Quests, and that he wouldn’t mind taking the Hobbe-hunt up in Oakfield instead. He’d been meaning to pay a visit to the sculptor who lived up there, he said –she’d been asking him to pose for her for quite some time now, after all.

Hyuuga, who had come to the Map Room looking for a new Quest, too, and who had also had a hand in Kagami’s apprentice training, had seemed a little sceptical, but Kasamatsu had to admit that Kagami was already showing signs of becoming a frighteningly strong Hero –and was always working hard towards that despite having a natural affinity for the role. He could respect that.

So, with his support, the Quest had been assigned to Kagami –under the condition that Midorima accompany him (in a supervisory role only) just to…make sure that he didn’t burn the Bower Lake camp to the ground. Just as a precaution, Momoi had assured Kagami (when he’d predictably kicked up a fuss) –and not unwarranted. But, a troll was a troll, and he’d been more than excited to take one on.

Kasamatsu had thought that Kise would have been happy that he got his way –what with how adamant he’d been that Kagami take the Quest…but he’d been oddly subdued.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t until over a year later that he figured out that Kise was avoiding Bower Lake, and why.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Kasamatsu inquired as he pulled on his boots and did a last minute check of his gear. He turned to raise an eyebrow at Kise, who had just popped his head in the door to see him off. “I know how much you brats like beating up highwaymen these days.”

“Ah, it’s fine, really, senpai,” Kise assured him, waving away the suggestion with earnestness that had recently started making Kasamatsu suspicious that the kid was hiding something.

“You sure?” he asked again, gauging the younger man’s reaction, “Didn’t you say that the springs near Bower Lake had the most delicious water?” Or something like that. Kise said the most absurd things sometimes.

“I’m sure senpai can handle a couple of highwaymen on your own,” Kise pointed out, “I uh, promised Moriyama-senpai that I’d help with the apprentices, anyways.”

Kasamatsu shrugged dismissively, choosing not to point out that people Kise’s age didn’t _volunteer_ to help train the apprentices –they all saw that sort of thing as a punishment. _But,_ this wasn’t the first time Kise had opted out of a Quest in the region of Bower Lake; gods, he’d practically pushed this one into Kasamatsu’s hands, despite being more than qualified to deal to it himself.

It turned out (predictably) that they hadn’t posed much trouble for Kasamatsu either. Highwaymen were more of a nuisance than anything else –plaguing the wilderness of Albion; blocking off main routes and accosting travellers –and even just by himself he was more than a match for a small band of them. He’d been threatened by them en route to Bower Lake, negotiations had failed, and Kasamatsu had spent his evening cleaning his sword by his campfire.

 _Technically_ , he had no reason to continue on to Bower Lake. The Quest Card had reported that the band was small, and had had a composite sketch of the gang patch they wore –so Kasamatsu had reason to believe that he’d eliminated the threat, and thus completed his Quest.

Even so, when he reported back to the Guild via his Guild Seal in the late hours of the evening, he informed Moriyama that he’d be making a trip to the Bower Lake camp in the morning to scout the area for highwaymen stragglers, and to assure the villagers that they were safe. After his call ended, he didn’t sleep until the moon was beginning its descent –he was never particularly at ease alone in the wilderness, even on a road as well travelled as this one. Instead, he sat at the fireside with his whittling knife and fresh piece of wood –a pastime he’d picked up when he was young, and still kept up even though his younger brothers, back in Knothole Glade, were getting a little too old for toys, now.

 

* * *

 

 

Bower Lake was really quite a pleasant region when it wasn’t being plagued by bandits and trolls –the lake itself was clear and clean, and the village that had risen up near the shoreline was quaint and peaceful. Its inhabitants were a lively bunch, and greeted him cordially as he wove along the dirt paths, looking for the caravan that the village leader resided in. So close to the Heroes Guild, the people here were used to seeing Heroes passing through.

He nodded back to each of them in turn –recognising a few faces here and there. A few traders called out to him, and a man who he recalled as the local tattooist complemented the design of the ink that could be seen rising up from underneath the collar of his armour. A few sitting at their fires called out; hoping that he hadn’t encountered trouble on the road –and seemed relieved when he informed them that he’d dealt to their highwayman problem. And he was just thinking that once his business here was done, he might take some time to join them for some meat and a tankard of mead, when he’d heard someone calling out to him.

“Hero!”

Well, he assumed it was him that was being addressed. As far as he knew, he was the only Hero in the area.

So he turned, to find that it was a young, wide-eyed girl –probably no more than sixteen –who had called out to him. He stiffened at the realisation, his tongue suddenly feeling rather thick and dry in his mouth.

 _Yes,_ he wanted to say, _can I help you_?

“Ah…” was what came out instead, and his eyes uncomfortably shifted away from her face to avoid her gaze.

_Damn it._

“Hero?” she repeated, taking a tentative step forward –and then another, when he took one back. “You…You are a Hero, right?”

“Mhmm,” he replied with a short nod, chancing a glance down at her and then hurriedly averting his gaze again when he was met with a pair of bright, hopeful blue eyes. In his peripheral vision, he saw her expression brighten in relief, and she shuffled closer. He wished she wouldn't. It meant he had to take a step back. 

“So…so you know Ryouta-kun?” she exclaimed breathlessly, and then glanced aside shyly, remembering herself, “I mean, um, Kise Ryouta-kun?”

That was not a question he’d been prepared for. And it caught him so off guard that he couldn’t help but stare at her in surprise, ignoring his sweating palms and how intimidating he must look dressed for battle.

But she didn’t look away. Instead, she just peered up at him with anxious eyes; her lips pressed into a thin line as she waiting for his response.

And in that moment, even without the young girl saying a word, Kasamatsu understood.

He took a sharp intake of breath; his eyes frozen wide as his expression cycled through shock, then disbelief, and then finally settled on a kind of disquieted wonder. She saw the look, and smiled –a sheepish, almost apologetic thing –and for once in his life, Kasamatsu didn’t avert his eyes at the sight. No, he couldn’t look away, because only now was he realising that she was not alone –that there was a beautiful young babe swaddled up in her arms; a child with golden hair, and bright golden eyes that didn’t match his mother’s, but were uncannily identical to a pair he knew well.

“Sweet Avo,” he breathed softly, a hand coming up to his mouth unbidden, as the babe stirred, blinking those big, sweet eyes at him. His gaze rose to meet the young girl’s, hardly daring to believe what was before him, despite having the proof right there before his very eyes. “He’s Kise’s…” he trailed off, swallowing down the words and having them stick in his throat.

She nodded, just once, and he let his eyes sink back down to the baby in her arms; not able to doubt her even for a second.

“…He looks just like him,” he whispered incredulously; the soft words escaping him before he could stop them. A low, dry sob escaped him, disguising itself as a shuddering breath. He swallowed that down too, and had to bring himself to meet her eyes, “Does…” his mouth was feeling dry, but on his second try he managed to croak out –barely a whisper, “…Does Kise know?”

“…I wrote to him,” she replied, with a small shrug –an obvious attempt to lessen the weight of her words, “A few times, actually…but I…he never came by.” She was young, though, and not good at pretending, so Kasamatsu heard the disappointment lacing her voice. “It’s fine though, really,” she assured him, apparently realising how transparent she’d been, “I didn’t expect him to want to marry me or anything…” She paused, looking down at her child and letting him curl his little fingers around her pinky, “…I just thought that…maybe he’d like to meet him.”

They stayed like that for a long moment –her gazing down at the babe in her arms with a sadness that seemed not for her, but for the little one she was holding; and Kasamatsu unable to tear his gaze away from the scene. There was a lump caught in his throat; one that choked him when those innocent, golden eyes turned to him and lingered on him so intently –like he was asking the world of him.

And then slowly, the small child seemed to lose interest in its mother; his little hand reaching out towards Kasamatsu –fingers stretching out to touch a stranger but catching only air.

Kasamatsu refused to let his lip quiver –just watching, for a moment, and letting his eyes mist up at the offered hand. Tentatively, he reached out a gloved finger; ready to withdraw at any moment if the mother demanded it. But she seemed at ease, and so did the babe; taking the tip of his finger and tightly wrapping his own around it like some kind of lifeline.

He allowed himself a small, overwhelmed smile.

“I think he likes you,” she murmured quietly.

“…Is that right?” Kasamatsu whispered, just as softly, “…It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ryuu,” she informed him gently, brushing a lock of golden hair back into place, “…His name is Kise Ryuu.”

“ _Ryuu_ ,” Kasamatsu echoed in wonder, the name barely louder than a breath. But the baby must have heard it, because he smiled –a full, brilliant smile; with rosy cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes. He felt that little hand tighten around his finger, and his expression softened into a gentle smile.

 _So tiny._ And yet, so full of life.

He glanced up, to see that the young woman was watching him –thinking to herself. And then she caught him staring, and he had to turn his gaze away –but he heard her giggle a little; something that sounded so young, to his ears.

“Would…” she began, her voice a little hesitant, but sincere, “…Would you like to hold him?”

“…I…I-I couldn’t,” he answered quickly, shaking his head and hastily withdrawing his hand from the baby’s grip. He wanted to remind her that she didn’t know him –that young women couldn’t just go around and letting strange men handle their children –but that seemed like too many words, and they were already jumbling on his tongue.

Apparently, he needn’t have said them, anyways.

“It’s fine,” she assured him –her voice soft and trusting; the kind of tone one would use with a nervous young animal. And, with a reassuring smile, she held out the child balanced in her arms as a gesture for him to take him. It might have been his imagination, but he thought that maybe Ryuu was reaching out, too.

He was hesitant to comply, but the young mother seemed adamant, and even the baby seemed insistent in a way that felt reminiscent of his father –so Kasamatsu nervously took a step forwards, and took the child into his arms.

It wasn’t until he let out a low, deep breath that he realised he’d been holding it in. He was used to holding heavy weaponry, so something so small felt so delicate and fragile in his hands, and he was for a moment concerned that he might hurt the creature.

But it seemed that Ryuu didn’t share his concern. Instead, he yawned, and rubbed his bright eyes a little blearily, before settling down and snuggling up against Kasamatsu’s leather chest plate as though he belonged there. And Kasamatsu’s heart skipped just a little, when the kid contentedly tucked a thumb into his mouth and left it there –sucking away at it.

“…H-How…how old is he?” Kasamatsu mumbled, gaze transfixed to the little thing in his arms –so trusting and helpless. Nestled there against his armour, it looked so small and defenceless –so blissfully unaware of the dangers of the world.

 “He turned one not a few weeks ago,” the mother replied fondly, stroking her child’s blonde locks and giggling when he cooed around his thumb.

“…One…” Kasamatsu echoed hollowly –his voice sounding forlorn even to his own ears, and his eyelashes growing damp. And maybe it was then, as he felt the warmth of a young life in his arms; against his chest, so precious and so _real_ –that it really hit him.

A _son_. Kise had a _son_.

Suddenly, it felt difficult to look into those golden eyes, and Kasamatsu had to clench his eyes shut as he bowed his head.

This was the secret that Kise had been keeping? For a year –longer, perhaps. And how long had he planned to keep it that way –not even acknowledging that there was a young girl out there raising _his child;_ a child who might never even know him? The poor thing. 

Something tugged on his hair, and he opened his eyes with a start to see curious eyes shining up at him like one might stay transfixed on a star. He was only young, but Kasamatsu could already see so much of Kise in his face –could see the little golden-haired brat the kid was going to become. Maybe even a Hero, eventually, like his father. 

And, he didn’t know exactly what came over him in that moment, but he knew –probably with all his heart –that this was something to be protected.

“Hero?”

Kasamatsu looked up, to find that the young woman had addressed him again. His gaze automatically shifted to avoid her eyes, but he needn’t have worried –this time it was her that dodged his gaze. She looked nervous, suddenly –and sad, and for the first time, Kasamatsu was struck by how small she too, seemed. She was trying to hide it, but her lip was quivering slightly, and there were anxious creases in the corners of her eyes as though from weariness, and worry. Like she had been trying to stay brave. 

“It’s….Kasamatsu,” he informed her, making an attempt to make her feel more comfortable, but sounding quite the opposite, “…Kasamatsu Yukio.”

“Kasamatsu-san,” she began again, looking down, “…You know Ryouta-kun, right?”

He nodded. She didn’t see it, but must have gathered as much, because she continued. 

“…Will you…tell him?” she asked, quietly; her voice daring to be a little hopeful, “…Will you tell him that…he looks like him?”

 

* * *

 

 

The younger Heroes were in surprisingly high spirits when he arrived back at the Guild, considering what a general nuisance they’d apparently made of themselves while he’d been gone. It never ceased to amaze him that he could be gone for _only a few days_ , and some of them would get it into their heads that it was going to be a good idea to try and raise the dead. 

“ _Again_?” Kasamatsu growled, rolling his eyes in irritation. He was barely through the gates and already Wakamatsu and Moriyama were informing him of the fourth Graveyard Incident this year.

“In their defence, they thought it would be good learning experience for the apprentices,” Moriyama admitted with a small shrug, and a vein twitched in Kasamatsu’s forehead, “…And it was, apparently.”

“And _none_ of them remembered how dangerous that book is?” he snorted, tugging off his gloves probably a little hard than necessary. That stupid "Book of the Extremely Dead" caused far too much trouble –but Akashi insisted that it was too ancient and rare to have destroyed, “…How did they even get their hands on the Normanomicon, anyway? I thought Midorima was keeping it safe.” Wakamatsu and Moriyama exchanged wry looks.

“We don’t know _exactly_ how they got it,” Wakamatsu admitted gruffly, dryly adding, “…But we have some theories.”

“No one was seriously injured,” Moriyama assured him, and Kasamatsu’s inner response of _how unfortunate_ seemed to show on his face. Maybe they’d _learn_ , then, that it was _always_ a bad idea to mess with necromantic magic. Moriyama made a face of understanding, and then watched as Kasamatsu turned to survey the dining hall –where apprentices and Heroes alike seemed to be taking their bad behaviour in stride despite the obvious reproachfulness of their seniors.

“…They’re so pleased with themselves…” Wakamatsu muttered mutinously, shaking his head at the way they were all crowding one of the long tables and animatedly discussing their adventure.

“ –You’re just cranky that they didn’t invite you along,” Moriyama teased good-naturedly, and Wakamatsu gritted his teeth at the reminder.

“…Oh come on, who _doesn’t_ like smashing up skeletons?” he grumbled, glancing aside and folding his arms rather crossly, “Apparently Kagami won.”

“Won?” Kasamatsu echoed flatly, and then sighed in understanding. A competition. Of course. Why was he not surprised?

Stealing a dangerous book of necromancy and using it to raise a graveyard of hollow men, then competing to see who could kill the most.

What would they think of next?

Then again, maybe he didn’t want to know. If the young Heroes could cause this sort of trouble _inside_ the Guild, then he could only imagine what sort of things they got up to outside of it.

With that in mind, Kasamatsu couldn’t help the way his eyes sought out Kise across the room and lingered on him, with the memory of a bright-eyed, blonde child still fresh in his mind.

“…Bower Lake that bad?” Wakamatsu inquired flatly, chuckling dryly when Kasamatsu frowned at him quizzically, “ –You’ve got the face of a person who needs a drink.”

Ah. It was unlike him to be so transparent. Moriyama must’ve also sensed that something was on his mind, because when Kasamatsu declined the drink and said that he was going to turn in for the night, he didn’t try to insist like he usually did –which Kasamatsu was grateful for.

It wasn’t his own room that he headed for, however.

 

* * *

 

 

Kasamatsu was not what some might consider to be a patient man. But _gods_ the people around him made it hard to be one. Like, for instance –what in Avo’s name was Kise doing at this time of night that could be keeping him??

He sighed, leaning back against the wall and running a hand through his hair.  The door was slightly ajar, still, and he could hear muffled voices echoing through the halls of the Guild –half of them probably belonging to young apprentices who were supposed to be in bed.

It felt like it hadn’t even been all that long since he’d been hunting down Kise and his fellow troublemakers in the dead of night and booting them back to bed with promises of repercussions for sneaking snacks. Among other things. And as much as the other Heroes his age tried to remind him that they had been much the same when they were kids, he disagreed. Or pretended to, at least.

Eventually, though, ( _finally)_ , he heard footsteps –and only one set, which was a good sign.

The wooden door creaked something shocking when it opened, and then again when Kise let it swing shut behind him. It closed with a soft thud, and Kasamatsu heard Kise yawn dramatically –waiting for him to acknowledge his presence; something that took far longer than he might’ve hoped for someone he’d helped train.

A shrill wail was what he was greeted with, when Kise discovered that he in fact, had company. Kasamatsu visibly flinched, gritting his teeth, as the blonde recoiled as if he’d been pricked by lightning.

“Senpai??” he exclaimed, clearly confused as to what was going on, but thankfully making a swift recovery from his fright. “Oh! Moriyama-senpai said you were back!” Kasamatsu didn’t say anything to that; simply straightened up with a stony expression, and waited for a couple of cogs to turn in Kise’s head and for theories to run rampant about why he was being paid a special visit. Panic and feigned guilt flashed across his face briefly and he took a pre-emptive step backwards.

“Ah….is this about the graveyard?” he chuckled nervously; his hands held up as one might to try ward off a wary dog, “I had nothing to do with that!”

Okay, _that_ Kasamatsu wasn’t buying. And Kise knew it immediately, his mouth curling into the uncomfortable smile of someone who has been caught telling fibs.

“ _Okay, okay!_ But it was Takaocchi’s idea!” he wailed hurriedly, “Please don’t kick me, senpai!” He’d braced himself, apparently, and seemed genuinely surprised when he  _wasn't_  unceremoniously floored.

“…I’m not going to kick you,” Kasamatsu assured him seriously. And he must have looked particularly stern, because Kise’s playful façade faded ever so slightly and confusion and wariness blossomed in its place, “Sit down, Kise.”

For once is his life, Kise obeyed without word or protest. He was still trying to keep up his smile –he was the kind of person to hide behind one, after all –but in the stony silence that followed, it did nothing to warm the air. For a long moment, he just sat there on the edge of his bed, waiting expectantly, but began to fidget when Kasamatsu remained silent.

“…Senpai –”

“Kise, is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Kasamatsu interrupted suddenly –and his words seemed to catch Kise off guard a little. He frowned a little; well-perfected innocence glittering in his eyes.

“No, senpai? I…I don’t think so?” he replied lightly, with a small shake of his head for effect.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, unable to help that his voice was probably more interrogative than necessary. Kise this time at least put some effort into pretending to think things over, before shaking his head again with a shrug.

“I’m sure,” he assured him with casual certainty.

“…I know I can be harsh on you sometimes,” Kasamatsu remarked, (personally, he felt that it was warranted, but he wasn’t about to mention that here), “…But you can trust me; you know that?”

“…I do trust you,” Kise replied; a little too quickly, “…And there’s really noth –”

“Kise, you know I’ve just come back from Bower Lake?” Kasamatsu interrupted him once again, his tone very much saying that he was not in the mood for his nonsense right now. And he was certain that he hadn’t imagined the slight glimmer of guilt that passed across Kise’s face at his words.

“The highwaymen, right?” he was always quick to jump back into character though, “I knew that they’d be no match for you –” Maybe he was catching on, because despite the praise and the smile of admiration, he wasn’t looking Kasamatsu in the eye.

“There was a girl at the camp,” Kasamatsu stated firmly, before Kise could change the subject. He didn’t miss the way that the blonde stiffened ever so slightly. “…She asked if I knew you. Said she’d been writing to you, but you hadn’t responded to her.” He kept his tone even, and his expression blank, and watched the way that Kise’s hands curled into fists, and quivered for a moment, before unclenching again.

“Ehe~” Kise chuckled, with feigned sheepishness and a touch of flamboyance, “I do have a lot of fans all over Albion~ It’s not like I can –”

“Kise.”

At the sound of his voice, Kise’s voice trailed off, and his smile wilted –Kasamatsu’s tone firm, and serious, and ordering him to cut the bullshit and the pretending because he wasn’t buying it. And the fact that he _knew_ must have been written clearly on his face, because when Kise took the time to really look up at him, his façade truly did crack, and he hung his head in defeat.

“Oh.”

Kasamatsu waited, watching the way that Kise’s shoulders hunched and how his hands didn’t really seem to know what to do. He folded them together, then shifted them to his knees, and then just placed them in his lap and stared at them.

“…How…is she doing?” Kise finally asked, as though he didn’t know what to say. Truth be told, Kasamatsu didn’t really, either. This wasn’t exactly a situation he was familiar with.

“ _They’re_ doing…okay,” Kasamatsu replied; his voice low and reassuring, so that Kise wouldn’t flee, and would know that he wasn’t angry, “I think.” His correction caused Kise to make a weak attempt at a chuckle, but it fell flat, sounding more like resignation than anything else.

“…So…it’s real, huh?” he murmured, his voice strangely hollow and his eyes dull. Kasamatsu frowned, not understanding –and Kise must’ve picked up on his confusion because he chuckled again –a little louder this time, but just as empty. “…I didn’t believe it, really,” he elaborated softly, “…Not at first. I thought maybe she was…trying to get gold out of me, or something…” He shrugged helplessly, “…And then the letters kept coming, and…” He trailed off again, worrying his lower lip and glancing aside.

“…And you thought that ignoring her was the answer?” Kasamatsu stated bluntly, folding his arms across his chest and seeing Kise wilt guiltily, “Never went to see her–” he paused, seeing Kise furiously shaking his head with his lips pressed tightly together.

“What was I supposed to do??” he gritted, and there was something helpless and pathetic in his voice that made Kasamatsu feel a pang of guilt for how chiding he may have just sounded, “I didn’t _want_ it to be real! I was….” He took a breath, and looked up at Kasamatsu with a dry, joyless smile. “…I was _fifteen_. I still lived at the Guild, and still got in trouble for sneaking sweets and being out too late.” Kise swallowed, wringing his hands.

“…I wasn’t…. _ready_ ….to….”

“To be a father,” Kasamatsu finished for him; the words sounding so _final_ , and hanging heavy in the air as the reality of the situation suddenly came crashing down around Kise. He nodded; his lips pulled tight, and the lower one at the mercy of his teeth.

“…I’m sorry, senpai,” he whispered, choking on the words a little, and although he hung his head again, his shoulders were shaking.

“…For what?”

“…F-for disappointing you.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes softened as he took a step forwards, placing a steady hand on Kise’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m not disappointed in you,” he assured him truthfully, and Kise looked up at him; damp eyelashes visible even through his blonde bangs. His lips were quivering a little, and there was something dejected and ashamed in his eyes, as though he didn’t quite believe what he’d just said. He looked so young.

He was seventeen now, but still very much a kid. One of the Heroes who had been too strong too young –and thrown into an adult world too early; before they were ready. But of course, they thought that they were invincible; that there was nothing in the world that they couldn’t do, and had tried to grow up too fast. And for Kise, that had all caught up to him very suddenly, and out of nowhere.

“Look, Kise,” Kasamatsu rumbled sternly, keeping his hand firmly on his shoulder to show him that he meant what he’d said, and that he didn’t need to worry, “…I know you were just a kid. So was she.” Kise glanced aside guiltily, sniffing. “And now she’s a mother,” he added bluntly, not sugar coating his words, because Kise needed to hear them, as much as he might not want to. But he did soften his voice a little, to something sympathetic and insistent, “…And she’s young and just as scared are you are –but she also has a child to protect and raise all on her own.” 

Kasamatsu slowly let his hand drop from Kise’s shoulder as the blonde sniffed dramatically and rubbed at his eyes with a fist.

“Kise,” he began again, with authority, “I know this is a big deal, and you didn’t plan on it happening, but it has.”

“Senpai…” Kise whispered, suddenly surprising Kasamatsu and leaning forwards enough so that his forehead was resting squarely against his abdomen –something that in any other scenario would have resulted in him getting a swift punch to the skull or a kick in the ribs. Maybe both. But Kasamatsu was making allowances, and tentatively laid a single hand on Kise’s head in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

“…What do I do?”

“You know what you should do,” Kasamatsu pointed out sternly, remaining unruffled by Kise’s unusual behaviour, “Your actions have consequences; you know that. And you have to take responsibility for them.”

“…I-I don’t know if I can…” Kise mumbled to the floor, his shoulders tensing and his hair rumpling on Kasamatsu’s armour as he shook his head, “…I don’t know anything about raising kids, or being a f-father! I can’t scold, or teach, or be responsible like senpai...” And as well as genuine anxiety in his voice, there was a touch of hysteria that was very much like the usual Kise, and despite himself, Kasamatsu felt a vein twitch in his forehead. “ –And I’m too young to retire! Me and Kagamicchi promised we’d have a match in the Arena one day! And I don’t want to settle down –”

“Oi, oi, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Kasamatsu scolded, laying a hand on Kise’s shoulder again and letting him regain his breath. Before he could start off again, he gave him a light push so that he was sitting up straight again, and looking up into Kasamatsu’s face. “…She doesn’t want to marry you,” he informed him stonily, to quell Kise’s rising fears. He sighed, his eyes crinkling at the edges a little, and giving him a face that seemed both sad and fond.

“ –She just wants you to be a part of your son’s life.”

 _That’s something that not all children can have, you know_.

Kise averted his gaze for a moment, looking like he was lost in thought. But he didn’t look so helpless and small now. Instead, he just seemed sad, and contemplative, and genuinely sheepish –as though he felt like he had done something hurtful and selfish. Kasamatsu let him sit in silence until he was ready to speak; watching emotions dance across his face, until the one that stood out the most was incredulity.

“ _My_ _son_ …” Kise whispered softly, breaking the silence with words that seemed like they felt foreign on his tongue –as though he’d never even really thought about it quite like that before. There was a touch of wonder in his voice, and a little bit of the light had returned to his eyes.

“Yes, Kise,” Kasamatsu chuckled, a small smile crossing his lips, “…And he’s beautiful.” Kise’s gaze immediately snapped up to him, eyes wide.

“Y-you met him?”

“I did,” he replied gruffly, before reaching over ruffling Kise’s hair despite himself, “He looks just like you, you know?” And maybe that struck a chord with him, because his golden eyes began to well up, and his smile widened a little. “And they’re both waiting for you.” Brushing a strand of hair back off Kise’s face; much like how he had done for his son not so long ago, Kasamatsu took a step backwards to give him some space to think. Kise nodded in understanding, swallowing nervous as Kasamatsu gazed down at him, shoulders squared and arms folded and looking very much like the adult in the situation.

“…And it might be hard, but you don’t have to do this alone,” he reminded him; sounding almost annoyed that he would have to reiterate something so simple. “You hear me?” Even to his own ears, it sounded an awful lot like “ _Don’t forget it._ ”

“I hear you,” Kise assured him quietly, with a small, fond smile, looking up at him with the kind of face that Kasamatsu knew he liked to wear when he was about to ask for something. He tried to refrain from grimacing in apprehension, and probably didn’t succeed. Not that it mattered all that much; Kise tended to be unaffected and undeterred even when he was making a conscious effort to discourage him. “…You’ll come with me, senpai?”

Kasamatsu audibly scoffed, rolling his eyes to the side. How stupid of him to have to ask.

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Stop fidgeting.”

Kise did _not_ stop fidgeting.

Kasamatsu gritted his teeth and landed a solid dig right under the blonde’s ribs and made him squeak in protest and double over.

“ _Senpai…_ ” Kise grumbled morosely. Kasamatsu had half a mind to hit him a second time to make up for the fact that he was wearing armour, but before he could mull it over as an option, the door to the hut that they were standing in front of creaked open –Kise mid-way through straightening up again.

“…R-Ryouta-kun?”

“A-ah…” Kise stammered, looking lost for words in front of a girl for once in his life. He drew up to his full height and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, “…Hi…”

The young girl’s face immediately flashed between shock and disbelief, and she just stood there in the doorway for a long moment, frozen; with her mouth as wide as her eyes. And then she seemed to spy Kasamatsu standing just behind Kise, and that seemed to make her realise that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t dreaming.

“I-Is…is it really you?” she still ventured, taking an inquisitive step forward; wary though, as though he might vanish at any moment.

“It’s me,” Kise assured her quietly, averting his eyes, “I…I don’t know what to say…”

“ _Sorry_ , would be a good start,” Kasamatsu prompted impatiently, kicking him in the back of the knee and making him buckle slightly. The girl giggled, and then clamped a hand over her mouth as though realising that she shouldn’t laugh at such a thing.

“Laugh,” Kise suggested, without ice, “It’s…the least I deserve.” He hung his head –either genuinely apologetic, or faking so well that even Kasamatsu couldn’t tell. “…I got your letters, but I didn’t come…and that was…wrong of me.”

Was it so wrong that Kasamatsu felt a small pang of pride?

Kise had been worried that she would be mad. Hate him, even. But that was far from reality. Convinced that he was really there, her face blossomed into an expression of relief, and she lunged forwards and wrapped her arms around his torso and clung to him tight.

“It’s…it’s all fine now,” she whispered, and maybe she was crying, “I knew you had your reasons…”  

“You…you aren’t mad?” Kise queried, sounding confused –and it was his turn to sound full of disbelief.

“I was…for a bit,” she admitted, when he hesitantly pulled her into a loose embrace, “And I was so sad when you never came back. But that didn’t do us any good.” She let out a single sob, and pulled back, brushing a tear from her eye and smiling gratefully up at him, “…And it doesn’t matter anymore, anyways.”

“I-it doesn’t?”

She smiled up at him without spite, and Kasamatsu could see that some of the tension in her bones had vanished, as though some great weight had been lifted. And she seemed truly grateful.

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

It seemed rhetorical, but Kasamatsu heard Kise whisper under his breath, as though reaffirming it to himself, “…Yeah, I am.” The blonde shifted uncomfortably on the doorstep, not sure how to proceed next, but thankfully the girl took charge and smiled at him as though what she said next, she’d been waiting to say for too long.

“Would you like to come inside?” she offered gently, “…There’s someone who’s been waiting to meet you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kasamatsu stood back, leaning in the doorway so as not to intrude, as Kise picked his way over to the crib with all the unsteadiness of a newborn fawn. He watched him peer over the edge, and saw those golden eyes gleam with something that he had never seen glittering in them before. Kise’s mouth fell open, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched the wood of the crib, and for once, he seemed absolutely lost for words.

Tears beaded in his golden eyes, and Kasamatsu could see that his shoulders were beginning to quiver. His mouth didn’t know what to do –trying to form words over and over, but being unable to find anything appropriate. And then the first tear began to drip down his face; rolling down his cheek and beading on his chin.

“W-what’s his name?” he managed to choke out on a shaky breath.

“Ryuu.”

“ _Ryuu_ ,” Kise echoed gently, an ugly sob escaping his lips, and more tears joining the first, “He’s _perfect_.” Another sob wracked his body, and he had to stuff a hand against his mouth to prevent any more from being heard. It didn’t help though –his shoulders still shook, and soft tears paved trails down his pale cheeks, and when Kise looked over at Kasamatsu, and laughed helplessly, his eyes were growing red and puffy.

“Senpai, he really does look just like me –” was all he managed to get out before his emotions betrayed him and the room became filled with restrained sobs.

“Would you like to hold him?” she asked quietly, and it was all Kise could do to nod weakly and try and dry his eyes a little. And Kasamatsu just watched –watched Kise take that little creature into his arms and stare at him with that pure amazement that only a father could truly know.

It must have been love at first sight, really.

Ryuu had just woken from a nap, but he didn’t cry, and seemed to feel perfectly at home in a stranger’s arms –as though he really didn’t think of Kise as a stranger. And he cooed and babbled like babies do when Kise rocked him gently back and forth, with tears still slowly trickling down his cheeks. 

The tears went ignored; Kise had eyes only for his son. He gently stroked his soft golden locks with the pad of his thumb; brushing it against a plump pink cheek and letting out a small gasp when Ryuu eagerly latched onto it. And Kasamatsu knew with some kind of certainty that he couldn't explain, that Kise had nothing to worry about.

He would be a good father.

The little one’s hands were grabbing for something, and although one seemed content to play with one of Kise’s fingers –so tiny and wee compared to his father’s –his other pudgy hand seemed to be urgently asking for something. The boy’s mother laughed to herself, kissing the child on the forehead and reaching into the crib to pull out a carved wooden bear that Ryuu immediately clutched to his chest as thought it was precious.

“…What’s that?” Kise managed to ask, but then stopped; recognising the toy, and glanced over at Kasamatsu for explanation.

“A birthday present,” Kasamatsu replied simply. It wouldn’t have been right for him to leave the child without a gift, after all. He knew it wasn’t much –he didn’t make a habit of carrying things fit for children –but the young girl had been grateful, and Ryuu had clung to it and hadn’t let go.

“Birthday…” Kise whispered, almost as though he didn’t understand the word, “What…his birthday…” He turned to Ryuu’s mother for explanation, his eyes watering up again.

“A few weeks ago,” she informed him, and smiled fondly down at her child, “He just turned one.”

Kasamatsu watched the cogs turn in Kise’s mind; watched it dawn on him what an important day he’d missed –what he’d been missing out on all this time. And the tears fell again; sticking in his hair and making dirty marks on his skin, and he shook as he clutched his son to his chest like he was the only treasure in all the world.

Allowing himself a small, proud smile, Kasamatsu stepped forwards and laid a hand on Kise’s shoulder for support.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde was whispering to the oblivious babe in his arms, trying to breathe but letting the sobs run rampant, “I’m so sorry I missed your birthday!” And then, with a low wail, he turned to Kasamatsu, looking quite the sight with his puffy eyes and shiny, tear-stained face, and a bright-eyed, _beaming_ kid in his arms. 

_You're not the one who's meant to be bawling, idiot._

And yet somehow, it seemed like a nice scene. So much so that Kasamatsu too, felt a tear forming in the corner of his eye. He let it linger there too, waiting to fall, as he took his turn as the recipient of one of Kise's soft, genuine smiles. 

"Thank you, senpai," he whispered gratefully, before sniffing dramatically and letting out a heavy sob, “I’ll never miss another one, I swear!”

And even though years went by, and with enough kids that they both pretended to lose count…he never did.  

 


	6. To Prove One's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to greatness is long, and there will always be those who would bar your way. 
> 
> The Arena is but a stage for those fateful encounters.

All his life, Kagami Taiga had dreamed of being a Hero.

Of course, all children played at Heroes –adventuring through their mother’s gardens and dreaming like children dream, of fighting off monsters and saving the world –but for him they had never been just games; had never been just a childish fantasy.

Because the adventures, and the monsters were all really out there; waiting for the strong and the brave to come for them.

It may have been that, on some level, he’d always known that there was power within him –a power that the other children could never hope to possess, because in the small hours of the morning, when the bards sang songs not fit for children’s ears, he would be listening –listening to the ballads they sung of Heroes proud and strong; who could call down lighting and shatter trolls to dust, and whose very name made evil creatures tremble in fear –and he would _know_ that one day they would be singing about him. 

He’d make sure of it.

He’d be the strongest Hero that ever lived, and all the world would know his name.

And like all Heroes chasing after glory, he knew his path would someday lead to the Arena. It was a rite of passage; a bloody gauntlet for those desperate to prove their strength. It pitted the brave, the strong, and the foolhardy against the monsters and the evils that Albion could provide; where failure meant death, and victory brought greatness. All the greatest of Albion’s Heroes had triumphed there; shown their strength for all the world to see.

And many others had fallen there.

Never, in all his dreams, would Kagami have thought that he would be one of them.

It’s only when he hits the ground; fire burning in his gut and his clothes drenched in his own blood that he realises that not once had he ever considered that this was where he might die.

Black swirls before his eyes. The ground around him is scorched beyond all recognition, and the charred remains of a slain monster lie smouldering nearby –a reminder of his hard won glory. But he doesn’t see it, because none of that matters now –because he’s on his knees, and the dirt beneath him is turning an ugly shade of red, and the sword lodged in his gut is laughing at him; mocking his defeat.

_It hurts._

He wants it out. _Avo above,_ he wants it _out._ But the blade won’t budge, and when he tries it feels like he’s trying to tear his guts out with his bare hands. It takes everything he has left not to scream.

 _It hurts so bad_.

He’s shaking. When he looks at his hands they’re quivering and they’re covered in more of his blood than he’s ever seen.

It suddenly feels cold. Not the kind he’s felt in harsh winters, or abandoned caves, but the kind of joyless, empty cold that Hollow Men bring with them.

 _Death._  

He’s only ever been touched by it before; had it swirling around him in the evil places that Hollow Men dwell, but now it’s crawling under his skin and seeping into his heart with every drop of blood that leaves his body. And the blade lodged in his flesh bites and bites, and makes every breath feel like he’s swallowing knives.

He hears footsteps; heavy and steady, kicking up ash as they come. Kagami coughs, and tastes blood on his tongue. The shudder jostles the blade inside him and he helplessly chokes out a groan as his head swims. The world blurs, fading into a mess of shadows and white noise. Somewhere beyond the ring the crowd waits; hazy and faceless. They seem so far away, and growing more distant by the second, and Kagami wants so badly to reach out to them –to reach out to _something_ to keep him grounded here.

His sword is gone; lost a long time ago in the fray; parts of his armour, too. But even if it were close, he doesn’t know if he’d have the strength to wield it now. And maybe that, in itself, is the most terrifying thing, because until now he’s never had any reason to doubt his own strength.

 _It hurts_.

It’s all he can do to keep himself upright. His insides are screaming at him, and he wants to scream along with him; wants to let out the burning in his veins and the violent churning in his gut. But he doesn’t. He swallows it down and tastes iron, and bites back tears, because he will not cry. Not here, before this crowd. Not in front of his opponent.

A shadow passes over him, and hangs there like an ill omen; the air around them shimmering with magic so incredible its almost tangible.

“…You gonna beg, Kagami?” he hears through the white noise that’s steadily overcoming him. He forces his gaze skyward, settles it on the figure standing over him until he can make out the details of a face –probably the last face he’ll see before he dies.

“ _Aomine_ ,” he spits, and blood drips down his chin as he chokes on his own breath.

This was a fight he’d always seen coming. Aomine Daiki was a prodigy even among Heroes. Time and time again he took on the Arena’s challenges, only to leave them all in ashes like it was nothing. He was strongest, they said –the most brilliant fighter that Albion had ever birthed.

So Kagami had vowed to defeat him.

He never thought it would turn out like this.

Aomine’s just standing there, empty-handed now that his sword is embedded in Kagami’s stomach. He’s looking down on him, but somehow Kagami feels like he doesn’t even see him. But even as his eyes mist over, Kagami sees him, and hates that he still thinks he’s amazing.

Because he is. The way he fights is incredible, and power emanates from him so easily, like his body can barely contain it all.

“I asked you a question,” he says, and his voice sounds haughty, and flat. And Kagami holds his blue gaze –so glassy and empty, as he repeats with a disinterest that makes his blood curdle, “…You gonna beg for your life?”

Kagami’s mouth tastes vile, like dirt and blood, but he still manages to speak.

“No.”

That’s all he says –all he _can_ say, because his chest feels tight and there’s suddenly not enough air in his lungs. He’s frozen where he kneels; arms hanging like lead and a numbness creeping into his veins, but he keeps glaring up at Aomine with defiance blazing in his red eyes. Daring him to strike again, because he is not broken, and he is not weak. 

With snort of derision, Aomine leans forwards and wraps his hand around the hilt of the sword. Kagami clenches his jaw; knows it’s coming, but he can’t hold in the agonised groan he lets out as Aomine jerks his sword free. Every inch is pure agony; like it’s carving him up from the inside. Tears bead in the corners of his eyes no matter how hard he grits his teeth, but he keeps his gaze glued to Aomine’s face, furious with himself for letting it all end like this. In the end, he wasn't strong enough, and he's going to pay the price for failure. 

It's a high price to pay, but without the challenge victory was meaningless.

He sees the sword rising; stained red with his blood, and he waits -with open eyes, because if he dies here, he's damned well going to see it coming for him -waits for the last stroke to fall.

It doesn’t.

He thinks he might be dreaming, when he sees Aomine sheath his sword, because the world is spinning and turning dark and it’s starting to become difficult to tell what’s real. He doesn't understand; doesn't want Aomine's pity, but he can't say that; can't shout at him to end it, if he was going to end it -can't speak for the blood rising in his throat. There are other voices though; rising in the distance, so faint and indistinct. He thinks he hears his name, but he can’t answer.

And finally, the last of his strength is gone, and he crumples, landing in the dirt in a sticky pool of blood. Most of it’s his, and some of it’s not, and maybe he's turning delusional, but the thought makes him smile. He fought monsters upon this ground; each of them more great and terrible than the last, and each fight had made him feel so _alive._ But look at him now; can't tell if he’s burning up or slowly turning to ice; only that it’s _wrong_ the way that Aomine looks at him as he turns his back.

He doesn’t have the right to look so lifeless when he’s not the one on death’s threshold.

Not after the fights they'd had. They'd fought trolls and ogres, and chimera monsters, and then when they were through were turned upon one another. Kagami had fought until his body was fit to break; had rained down fire the likes of which the Arena hadn't seen in many years until drawing the dregs of his magic from within himself was like tearing off his own skin. 

And still nothing, from Aomine, but boredom. 

Blackness flickers across his vision, and he coughs blood into the dirt as he scrabbles for purchase. Someone’s hands are on him now; pressing magic into the wound to knit his flesh back together.

 _Numb_.

He can hardly feel the wound anymore.

Or anything else.

He's sure he can barely move now, his strength sapped beyond belief, and yet even so, he watches his own hand, almost through no will of his own, claw through the dirt; reaching out towards the boots vanishing into the distance.

 _Next time_ , he thinks, as darkness overcomes him, _next time_ , _I’ll win._     

 

* * *

 

 

_“I can’t believe he’s sleeping at a time like this!”_

_“Kagami-kun isn’t sleeping. He’s saving his strength.”_

“ _It sure looks a lot like sleeping_ –”

“You guys are loud,” Kagami rumbles, red eyes cracking open just a sliver and gleaming in the dusky torchlight of the barracks. Riko and Hyuuga, who have been arguing in shouted whispers nearby fall into a somewhat sheepish silence, and Kagami catches Kuroko smiling knowingly in the background.

“Oh, you are awake,” Riko remarks, the tension falling from her voice but not from her shoulders. She seems worried, but there's no helping that. 

“’Course,” he replies dismissively, relaxing against the wall just a little better to let his shoulders hang loose. Briefly, his gaze travels to the cleaver resting beside him; long and sharp and as ready for battle as always. “…How could I sleep at a time like this?” There’s no misunderstanding his meaning; not with the way he stares through the torchlight; gaze zeroing in on the lone figure sitting across the hall; waiting, as he is.

He’s lounging on a bench, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s sleeping without a care in the world; feet propped up on a hay bale and hat tilted low over his eyes. But Kagami knows better; can see a sliver of blue peeking out from under the brim of his hat, and knows that he’s being watched.  

_Let him watch._

“Good luck, Kagami,” Hyuuga declares, clapping him on the shoulder now that the guards over by the gates are starting to get antsy. Kagami takes that as his cue to get to his feet; collecting up his cleaver as he does so. It’s a heavy beast of a weapon, but it feels light and familiar in his hands –an extension of his own body by now.

“We’ll be watching,” Riko assures him; not that needed her to tell him that.

All of Albion will be watching.

“I know,” he says, anyways, grinning at them to ease some of the tightness from their smiles. Kuroko brushes against him as he passes; little more than a shadow, but it’s a welcome presence all the same.

“I believe in you, Kagami-kun,” he murmurs, a whisper in the hall.

“I’ll defeat him this time,” Kagami promises with certainty, loud enough so that the figure in the corner will hear. He must do, because at Kagami’s declaration he looks up; hooded blue eyes boring deep into his, and right through. The hat he discards on his bench as he stands, and his cloak too, to reveal the twin longswords strapped to his back.

“…That so?” Aomine drawls, stalking over at a fearful gesture from one of the guards. He takes up his place beside Kagami; staring up at the gates that will take them out into the Arena, and onwards to fate. He appraises him just a moment from the corner of his eye; drinking in the resolution in his gaze and the confidence in his stance before drawing back with a shrug. “…You seem to have improved a little.”

“I have,” Kagami retorts; magic starting to slowly seep from his very being to warm the air around them. Aomine senses it immediately, and stiffens, and Kagami thinks that maybe he did let himself fall too close to sleep because for a second there, he thinks he sees the distasteful curl of Aomine’s lips soften, just a little.

“Now, now, we’re all friends here!” one of the guards pipes up, obviously aware of the tension setting in. He says it like he really believes it too, as he reminds them that this is a team challenge today –that they’ll be fighting alongside one another against all manner of dangerous beasts.

But they know better. They all know better. Because the two of them are the reason Albion has turned out for the gauntlet today. They might indeed be fighting through the rounds together, but in the last, they’ll be pitted against one another to fight for their lives, and for glory.

The crowd’s roaring, and that’s their cue. The gates start rising, and the guards step aside to let them pass. Aomine strides ahead of him, and Kagami follows only a step behind. From there, he’s greeted by the sight of those two indomitable blades, and he thinks to himself that it’s been a long time since Aomine’s shown his true strength to Albion.

 _I just want to see Aomine-kun fight with a smile again_.

Today he’ll draw that out.

Today, he’ll force him to draw that second blade, and show them all that Aomine Daiki isn’t a monster.

He’s a Hero, just like him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.   
> Let the record show that I intend to give them their happy end.   
> Hope it was all right! (I was just suddenly hit by the urge to update this today so I did. A little less upbeat than you were probably hoping, but I promise that things only stand to improve from hereon out.   
> [And if you were confused about the timeline, the second part of the chapter takes place when Kagami is 18; after the events of Chapter 4] 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope to hear from you~


	7. Someone, set my soul on fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine Daiki is not a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPLITTING A CHAPTER INTO TWO PARTS, WHO ME? 
> 
> Aomine's take on his last encounter with Kagami at the Arena. Enjoy.

_The Arena is but a stage for fateful encounters._

That’s what Aomine had always been told.

And that’s what he thought he’d given up on believing, a long time ago. Years, he had spent carving his mark into the heart of the Arena –fighting its gauntlet, feeding its bloodlust, and finding nothing, and finding _no one_ that felt like fate.  

But somewhere deep inside him, he must have kept on believing, because he fought all the same. And it must have been buried deep, and hidden, because he had long since come to understand the truth –the reality that a young heart full of dreams of grandeur, and adventure –like his own had once been –could never have really comprehended.

The reality, that the Arena was cruel.

Maybe once upon a time it had been different. From the stories –the oldest of them –he’d gleaned that once upon a time, it had truly been about skill, and bravery, and proving one’s strength against monsters and beasts and all the evils of the world. It had been a stage for Heroes. That was the Arena that a young Daiki had dreamed of. And for a time, that was the Arena it had been.

But through the years something darker had taken root in its halls –a rot birthed from the corruption of men that manifested in the masses as an insatiable desire for carnage. And so the Arena became a monster in its own right –just another mighty beast for Heroes stupid or brave enough to conquer at their own peril. It was true enough that rising from its depths victorious brought a man to greatness, and that all those who triumphed over it were revered and crowned as kings, but as glorious as it was, it was ever more fickle, and wicked, and it loved blood over all else.

And it cared not from whom it drank.

And for too long now, Aomine Daiki had been its favourite. Whenever he strode forth the crowds would roar, and bay for death and blood –and like a benevolent master, with his sword he would deliver, and the ground would weep red. The bodies would pile up, and they would bleed and they would burn, and the crowd like beasts would howl for more.

Even now, they’re cheering. All around him the earth is scorched dark, and corpses seared to the bone lie smouldering in their own ashes, and the very air tastes like blood. Yet, because the Arena is greedy, with a thirst that cannot be quenched, it cries for more. There’s blood pooling at his feet –blood that isn’t his (it never is) –and even as the Arena swallows up its tribute the crowd demands more.

 _Why are they cheering_? Aomine thinks to himself as he stares –stares down at his opponent, broken and kneeling in the dirt; run straight through with a sword by Aomine’s hand.

 _Can’t they see I didn’t mean to do it_?

He’s bleeding.

Gods above, he’s bleeding so badly. And he knows it shouldn’t, because it’s his opponent he’s mortally wounded and he’s hardly scratched, but it _hurts_. It hurts, because _he didn’t mean to_ , _Gods, he didn’t mean to_.

 _He was supposed to dodge it_ , he whispers to himself, eyes wide, and if maybe he were younger and had seen fewer battles and ice hadn’t crept into his heart, they might have been laced with tears.

_I thought he could. Wasn’t he meant to be my…_

But because he isn’t so young, and has fought enough fights that the numbness that comes is nothing new, his eyes turn glassy, and cold.

_I was wrong._

_(Tetsu. You promised.)_

It’s over. The fight, that is, if it could even be called that. Aomine’s seen wounds like these before – _dealt_ wounds like this before –and from the amount of blood spilling out of his gut, his opponent is finished. And yet, while he still draws breath, the crowd howls on, calling for blood.

It’s wrong, Aomine thinks as he stalks towards his fallen foe. There’s not a drop of strength left in him, and it’s only a matter of time before the hollow cold of death starts sapping away at what’s left of his will. His clothes are in shreds, his body ripped and torn and battered beyond belief, and his sword lies in the ashes far beyond his reach. He’s obviously finished, and it’s wrong that they want him to die.

That they want Aomine to kill him.

He’s just a kid.

Really, they’re both just kids. Heroes, the both of them –or supposed to be. And if the Arena had its way, one of them would die here and be forgotten by the world, and the other made an unforgivable kind of monster. He’d turned his sword against his own before, sure –they all turned on one another from time to time, after all, but it had never come to this. All these years he’d fed the Arena –paid its price for fame with the blood of monsters and the bones of the dead even when fighting no longer brought him any joy…and now the Arena had set Kagami Taiga at his feet, and sentenced him to die by his hand.

Today, not hours ago, they had stood side by side against monsters that normal men would consider the stuff of nightmares –fought their way through the infamous gauntlet that Heroes and commonfolk from far and wide came to witness. And the crowd had cheered. It had revelled as fire and lightning rained down upon the monsters, and their names together had filled the air like thunder in a storm.

But no more. Now, it’s Aomine’s they call, because he is their victor and the Arena does not like to be cheated of even a single death. It’s wrong, that it’s come to this, because even after all the time he’s spent lost in the darkness, he can see that Kagami is the still bright with fire –that he still wholeheartedly believes in the legacy of the Arena. So wholeheartedly, that even though he was no match for Aomine, he still fought with all his heart; pouring out his strength until there was nothing left to prove his worth to the world.

And maybe, in another world –an older world less touched by darkness, that would mean something.

But Aomine learned a long time ago that the Arena is cruel.

And because the Arena is cruel, they cheer for _him_.

But because Aomine isn’t naïve, he knows they mean nothing. Sure, here in the Arena they’ll cheer his name, and when they’re afraid they’ll call for him. Here, they don’t care if the monsters win. But when the dust settles; once the sun has risen and the creatures that lurk in the darkness are dead, he sees the way they look at him. He sees how they shrink away when he walks amongst them, and how they cower from him when he joins their firesides. He sees it in their faces when they think he can’t see and hears it on their whispers when they think he can’t hear.

Here, he’s their Champion. And maybe, a long time ago, that was something more than an executioner. Because there are fights where he feels like that’s what he’s becoming. Fighting used to make him feel _alive_ –and to be the greatest Hero; the greatest fighter, had probably once been his dream. And the world, enthralled, could only watch in awe, and admiration.

Now, it just makes him feel hollow, and the world can’t bear to look at him.

Now, no one remembers little Aomine Daiki as he was. No one remembers the bright-eyed prodigy with a spirit of fire and adventure in his heart, and how he could bring light and life to even the deepest, darkest parts of the world. They’ve forgotten that once upon a time his adventures inspired songs and Heroes; that when he laughed the world laughed too, and the way he used to smile.

Sometimes, not even he remembers.

It’s too easy to forget, that fire once burned in his veins –fiercer, and hotter, and more brilliant than any other flame; too easy to forget the way he used to feel when the Arena called his name.

Because fires burn out if they’re not fed; leaving nothing but ash.

_After all, the only one who can beat me is me._

* * *

_Someone._

_Anyone._

_Set my soul on fire._

* * *

_Please._

 


	8. Aomine Daiki is not a monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the creatures Aomine had fought, Kagami was the brightest and the most magnificent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for extensive, romanticised fight scenes, with feelings. That's it, that's the chapter. You've been warned. Hope you enjoy.

 

 _Tetsu promised_.

From the day the world turned dark –from the day that Aomine had walked away from a fight and felt nothing, Tetsu had promised him that that was not his forever.

He told him –swore, like he knew something that Aomine didn’t, that one day he would find someone even greater than him, who would make his heart burn again. And for a time Aomine had believed him, because Tetsu was his friend and had a way of knowing these sorts of things. But time passed, and no such opponent appeared, and the child with a hole in his heart that had once held fire, grew into a man who no longer dared to hope.

He was the strongest, after all. He’d looked –Gods help him, he’d looked –and he’d waited, but it was useless. And it was boring, because there were none out there who could stand against him; none out there who could give him the kind of fight that his wild heart desperately craved.

And yet suddenly, Aomine wants to believe him, because the man standing before him takes his breath away.

It’s been a long fight –this is a battle that is long overdue after all, and the Arena has been sure to put on its most splendid of shows for all of Albion to see. Around them, the ground is charred and black, and the bodies of creatures too numerous to count lie scorched and smoking where they fell under a rain of cleansing fire. There’s blood drenching the walls, and it makes the air down here taste rotten, and Aomine distantly wonders if the crowd –watching from the stands high above –can taste it too. Or maybe it’s sweet to them, because they’re cheering. Even as the two of them pick their way through the boneyard of their own making, they cheer.

It’s been carnage.

(It always is).

But there are still two of them left standing –two Heroes remaining upon the Arena’s bloody stage –and there’s fire in the eyes of the man striding towards him that promises that the show is far from over.

_It’s mesmerising._

It’s almost graceful, the way he sways –the way he picks his way across their battleground –crossing lakes of blood and crushing skulls into dust under his boots; his eyes, burning red, ever-fixated on Aomine and Aomine alone.

For the first time, in a long time, Aomine feels a shiver of anticipation trickle down his spine.

He waits, because they might as well have all the time in the world. Somewhere in the distance there’s a man calling their names in a voice that resonates out through the stands like thunder –heralding them as Champions –as kings among men. But neither of them listen –they don’t need to listen to know what’s coming next; after all, it’s the reason they’re both here. So while the voice prattles on –pandering to the bloodlust of the crowd –he waits, and he watches, as Kagami approaches him, unwavering, and without fear.

A stupid move, Aomine thinks flatly, considering their last encounter here.

 _Doesn’t he remember_?

He keeps coming, never faltering in his stride.

 _Doesn’t he remember what happened? What I did to him_? 

He must do, because there’s a vehemence in his eyes that’s worn only by men with something to prove –but when Aomine looks at his face for the anger that comes with the desire for vengeance, he finds none. Instead, and a thousand times more terrifying, he finds calm –the kind that comes before the greatest of storms. And the heat in Kagami’s eyes –the heat that’s rising off him as steam, like there’s a fire burning inside him too hot for his body to contain –promises only the mightiest and most magnificent of storms.

And suddenly, Aomine can’t wait to feel the rain.

“ _Come on, Kagami_ ,” he thinks, and surprises himself when he thoughts come out on a whisper, “ _I’m waiting.”_

* * *

Aomine has long since lost count of the times he and Kagami have met like this. It’s been this way since before he can remember. Rowdy taverns, lush mountainsides, city streets, or barren wastelands; the stage was ever changing, but they were not. There were some who liked to whisper that there wasn’t a stone in Albion who hadn’t borne witness to one of their fights 

Because of all Heroes, Kagami’s the one he’s fought the most.

But the Kagami standing in the ring with him at this moment is not the same Kagami he’s faced before. Sure, his face is the same, with eyes ever burning, but Aomine’s not fooled. Something’s different; something’s changed. Aomine’s been drenched in dragonfire and faced the flames of dark gods, but he’s never felt a heat like this before.

It’s _electric_ , and chases away the stale scent of death as it rises in the air. And it comes for him, and leaves sparks dancing across his skin wherever it touches. He can feel it on his lips, and in his blood when he breathes –and like a living thing, it calls to him.

It’s magic –the oldest and most beautiful kind –the kind that Akashi had once told him had shaped the world; the kind that had awakened in Aomine’s own blood so many years ago –and it’s pouring out into the world with _Kagami_ as its heart.

 _No_ ; this is not the same Kagami who he left to die upon this very ground.

 _Good_.

Aomine hasn’t moved an inch since the last round ended –since their last foe fell. Let Kagami come to him, had been his thought as Kagami had picked his way across the battlefield towards him, if he’s so eager to die.

And yet, even as Kagami gravitates towards him, Aomine finds himself doing the same.

 _Why_? He thinks, as his boots carve prints into the soot that’s settled upon the Arena’s floor.

“This won’t be like last time, Aomine,” Kagami declares, and it’s all that Aomine hears over the roar of the crowd. He’s quickened his pace. And he seems to believe his own words so wholeheartedly that Aomine almost wants to believe him too. But he won’t. Not yet. The last time they’d fought –upon the innocuous grounds of the Bordello –he’d caught a glimpse of _something_ , and for the first time, something had stirred deep within his blood. And now, in this air, it itches, and it turns in its sleep, but whatever has lain dormant within him has been kept waiting for too long, and won’t wake for just any man.

“ _Show me_.”

 

* * *

 

The first time their blades clashed the earth quaked.

And _oh_ , how the crowd roared.

It sounded like a turbulent ocean, and Kagami was the wave breaking upon the cliffs. But for all his might, Aomine’s arm didn’t so much as tremble as he turned aside the blow. And when he countered, Kagami was there to meet him; ready and waiting, and _burning_ for a fight.

So Aomine obliges.

After all, the Arena is always hungry for blood, and he is its keeper.

(But Kagami is tenacious, and it was never his destiny to die as fodder. Aomine had left him to the Arena once before, and never again.)

Steel meets steel, and the note that rings out is high and piercing.

And as their blades sing, Aomine and Kagami dance.

It’s a dance that they both know well by now. They’ve polished it together, the two of them, over many fights over many years. Aomine knows that cleaver almost as well as he knows his own swords –he knows its weight, and its range, and when it flies harmless past his throat as it’s done countless times before, he can see the fine grooves carved into the blade by his own hand.

And he knows Kagami. He knows his rhythm, and the way he moves.

How can he not?

After all this time it’s not so hard. Sure, Aomine’s the greatest swordsman Albion’s ever seen, but it’s more than that. It’s more than simply reading him –more than being stronger, and more than being faster. Because even though he is; even though through all these years he’s been a step ahead, there are nights –like tonight –where Kagami keeps pace. Where Aomine moves, Kagami follows –without thought, without hesitation –because to think, is to die. Instead, they _feel_ ; move against one another; each movement seamlessly becoming the next.

It’s on nights like tonight that their dances are the most entrancing.

Because even though both of them favour their swords above all else –because they are the same kind of man; the kind who believes in his own strength and so chooses to carry his fate in his own hands –they are more than just their blades. Because heroes are born with magic in their blood, and according to Akashi, who knows these things, that which dwells inside of them is rare, and old, and powerful.

And when it comes to magic, Kagami favours fire above all else.

So it’s fire that comes for him, first.

It curls up around Kagami’s fist in writhing tendrils of red and gold, and in an instant, the air around them ignites.

All Aomine sees is red.

And the flames, they rage. Like the crashing waves of the ocean, they engulf him, and all Aomine sees is red. It stings, where it eats at him, and his flesh hisses at every stroke, and when he makes to breathe, all he tastes is ash, and the air being stolen from his lungs by the greedy flames. But while he burns the hottest, and the brightest, he need have no fear of fire.

The sword bursts through the flames, burning white hot, and Aomine is there to meet it. His own cool blade hisses and smokes as it catches upon Kagami’s, and sparks and soot rise up into the evening air as they dance apart, smouldering. Yet, even as the flames die away upon the charred earth; flicker away onto the wind until they are called again, Aomine still sees red; only this time it’s glinting in Kagami’s eyes.

And then suddenly, he tastes it, on his tongue.

At first, he doesn’t understand. One moment Kagami is beyond his reach, and then an instant later, he’s filling Aomine’s vision so completely that for a moment he thinks he’s still shrouded in flame. He moves then –because when one moves, the other moves; that’s just how it is –but he must be an instant too slow, because suddenly his cheek is stinging, and his mouth tastes of iron.

It shouldn’t be blood, but he knows it is. ( _It shouldn’t do, but it tastes red_ ). It shouldn’t be, but he knows it’s his. 

He has little time to wonder at it, because the blade’s coming for him again, and glints dangerously as waning daylight catches on its bloodied edge. And again, Aomine finds his body reacting without thought; dancing out of reach before Kagami’s next blow can find its mark.

There’s blood dripping off his chin, and he wipes it away with a charred glove and marks the way Kagami’s eyes track the movement with a terrifying vehemence he’s never seen before.

 _Terrifying_.

A low shiver runs down Aomine’s spine.

It’s been a long time since he’s found anything _terrifying_.

And in his chest, as the cut upon his face weeps, he feels his heart strike up a beat –not fast (not yet) –but it’s something more than the dull, steady thud it’s been playing for all these years.

(He wants to hear it.)

The crowd is hissing –booing, because their favourite executioner bleeds, but Aomine tunes them out and fixes his gaze on Kagami as new flames, brighter and fiercer than those that came before them, flare into life in his hand. He may have stolen first blood, but Aomine has no intention of allowing him any more.

And so, they fight.

And when that fire comes his way again, he retaliates in kind. But where Kagami favours fire, Aomine favours a magic of a different kind; just as bright, just as explosive, but even more unpredictable and in the right hands, immeasurably more destructive.

(It just so happens, that Aomine’s are the right hands.)

There were few forces upon this earth more beautiful and terrible than an inferno fed with magic. Of all fires it burned the fiercest and the brightest, and moved like the most ravenous of beasts –one that answered to few masters. But of those few –of those forces more beautiful, and more terrible, there was one more wild and capricious than all the rest, and it’s that, that coils around Aomine’s hand; hissing crackling as it waits.

It’s lightning, that fills the Arena next.

It’s blinding, and roars as it bursts forth at Aomine’s command. Kagami’s flames –so enchanting; so red –turn to wisps upon the air as its fingers rip and tear them to shreds, because the lightning born of Aomine’s magic is carnage in its most beautiful form, and knows no equal.

It’s a sight that strikes fear into the hearts of monsters and men alike –but even as it comes for him, Kagami doesn’t waver. Even with his wall of fire turned to nothing but ash on the wind, he steels himself.

(For a moment there, drenched in the lightning’s ethereal blue , he’s luminous, and Aomine swears he sees sparks dancing in his eyes.)

 _He dodges_.

It’s incredible.

The bolt of lightning, missing its mark, ignites upon itself in a flash of white, and a storm of dust and smoke billows up into the air like a death shroud, but Kagami pays it no mind. Dust whips at his face and shockwaves tear at his hair, but his eyes never leave Aomine, like he’s all there is –all that matters –in his world.

He comes for him, with fire in one hand, and blade in the other.

Aomine lets the fire swallow him once again. And it stings and it sears –sears through the leather of his armour and turns the metal of it red hot in its embrace –but it doesn’t burn, because there isn’t a fire in this world that has ever burned hot enough to leave its mark on him. And when Kagami bursts through the flames to face him with all his might thrown behind his sword, Aomine, smouldering and smoking, but with flesh unscorched by the flames, is there to receive him. And even when the flames die away on the wind, the heat remains.

It builds, when Kagami draws close, and recedes as he steps back, so Aomine finds himself pressing on –chasing him down; if only to feel that heat again. It reaches out for him, that magical touch; beckoning with hot hands and a caress that breathes life into him with every brush –and Aomine reaches back.

 _Yearning_.

And before he knows it, his heart is pounding.

There’s blood on Kagami’s face; a splash of red at a weak spot of his armour, too, but for all the times they’ve fought, it’s never taken him this long to get past Kagami’s guard. They’ve danced; traded blows and wounds like swordsmen are known to do, but in the scheme of things they’re little more than nicks and scrapes. Not once tonight has Kagami’s defence shattered –not once has Aomine felt like he’s had the upper hand.

It’s a strange feeling, uncertainty.

(He thinks, maybe, that he likes it.)

It makes his heart race, when his shoulder smarts by a bite left by that cleaver; when he sees it miss its mark once again by little more than a hair’s breadth –cutting closer each time –because it makes him think, in the back of his mind, that maybe the next one will meet its mark; that there’s a _chance_ (a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless) that the first one to fall out of time will be him.

It makes him feel mortal.

 _Human_.

(And, for a man who never asked to be a monster, nothing could be more thrilling.)

 

* * *

 

The Arena burns, and their blades gleam in the firelight, like the malicious wisps that dance in the woods of Albion to lead travellers astray. And to the crowd of spectators they must look a beautiful sight; weaving amongst the flames with sparks and soot rising around them, and embers glinting upon the wind as they burn themselves out. 

Up close, they’re even more magnificent. Despite their armour; despite the heat, they move like the wind –swift and ever-changing. Kagami’s chest is heaving something terrible; his clothes torn and singed from both Aomine’s magic and his own, and red welts rise up in angry swathes on his skin where he’s been touched by lightning.

A bead of sweat gathers on Aomine’s brow.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been fighting. Time seems meaningless here. Mere moments could have passed, or hours, but whichever it is, it doesn’t seem to matter to Kagami, because each time he strikes, he strikes like the battle has only just begun. That cleaver is heavy –Aomine’s felt its weight bearing down on him more times than he can count, and yet in Kagami’s hand it _moves_ light; effortlessly cutting through the air –stopping only when Aomine’s blade catches it with a scream.

It takes both hands to turn aside the blow.

 _Something isn’t right_.

Aomine’s losing his rhythm, and there’s no way Kagami doesn’t see that.

 _Why_.

And in the back of his mind, he knows.

He’s felt like this for the longest time but set it aside in his thoughts and in his heart. It’s never mattered much; that he feels like this when he fights.

Off balance.

_Incomplete._

His opponents lose, all the same, so he’s never cared; never cared that he never feels quite _right;_ that he feels like a part of him is missing -or at least pretended as much.

He feels it now.

There’s something exciting about this Kagami –something enticing –that sets a low burn into his blood and counts time for the beating of his empty heart.

(Oh, how Aomine had forgotten the way his blood felt when it burned.)

And it aches, because for all the lies he’s told himself and the ones who love him, he’s always wanted to believe –

_(Tetsu promised)_

–and suddenly, it seems possible. Because now, after years of enduring the dead weight of the sword –his favourite; forgotten –growing dusty at his back, there’s a longing like no other striking up in his left hand and in his heart, whispering for him to take it.

 _I won’t_.

He doesn’t need to.

 _The only one who can beat me is me_.

 _This ends now, Kagami_.

Thunder rumbles in the darkening evening sky, and that’s all the warning the world receives of the impending storm before Aomine unleashes lightning upon the Arena once more. It’s a terrifying bolt of energy –pure, and so blue it’s almost white, and leaves the very air crackling in its wake –and Kagami stands dead in its path.

 _You won’t dodge this one_.

Like a living thing, it grows; scattering sparking barbs out across the Arena; piercing and scarring the earth wherever they fall. And, fuelled by Aomine’s magic –the strongest; immeasurable and unending –it swells, and burns.

He’s right. Kagami doesn’t dodge this time.

His stance shifts, and with it the air about him changes. Aomine doesn’t know what he thinks he can do –he has but an instant to save himself from being fried beyond recognition –because that bolt is coming for him like he’s the rod drawing it to earth.

(Even illuminated by blue lightning his eyes are so dangerously, blindingly red.)   

He strikes.

And with a single stroke of that blade, renders Aomine’s bolt of lightning clean in two.

It screams, and it shrieks, but split it, it does, like its wielder were parting a raging river with his own hands.

The explosion is deafening, and the whirlwind of dust kicked up as shockwaves ripples the earth is blinding. It swirls and casts a shadow against the sky as it rises, and Aomine’s world turns dark, and quiet. The ash stings his eyes and burns his lungs, and he lets them as the withering flames still burning upon the ground wear themselves out –waiting for the ash-clouds to settle.

They don’t.

They _part_ , and out of the smoke, heralded by the cheers of a thousand voices turned to one, and haloed by the setting sun, Kagami comes soaring like a star falling from the heavens –bright and burning as it falls. And in the last of the waning daylight, the sight of him rising amid the darkness with his sword raised to salute the sky is all Aomine sees.

 _Good_ , the voice inside him whispers, as those red eyes bore into his soul, and that monster of a sword comes down upon him.

The fingers of his free hand twitch, unbidden.

 

* * *

 

The dust takes it’s time settling. Unease has seeped into the stands of the Arena and a terrible hush takes over the crowds. The Arena is a beast when it roars and when it hungers –but it is never at its most terrifying until it is silent.

They wait.

The cheers have died off; killed by the uncertainty brought forth by the shroud that engulfed the ring and cloaked its latest victims in darkness. Each man has made his choice on who he sees fit to leave the Arena this night, and each waits with bated breath to see if he’s won his bet.

The ash begins to dissipate on the wind; carried up and off into the world.

Down upon the Arena’s barren stage, the curtain raises, and nothing moves. 

 

* * *

 

Kagami aches. 

His face, where the skin is scraped raw from the earth, aches.

His arm, wrenched something terrible from the earth-shattering strength of Aomine’s parry, aches.

His bones, from being flung across the ring like a discarded carcass, ache.

But he is not broken, and while he remains whole, he will not let this fight end the same way as the others before it.

(It is not his destiny to die in the Arena.)

He stirs, and it hurts to breathe, like the air has been crushed from his lungs by the blow. But he has endured worse, so he fights on, scrabbling at the brittle earth with numb fingers until he has grip enough to raise his head from the ground. There’s ash in his mouth and in his eyes, but it’s rising now; riding a warm current of air up into the sky like a thick fog lifting to a clear, new day. His head spins something terrible, and a low ringing has struck up in his ears, and when he blinks away what ash and dirt he can, he sees double.

There’s a shape standing at the edge of the fog, and ash and embers swirl around his feet like they both long and fear to venture close. They worship at his feet; licking at his boots and fondling the hem of his cloak with reverence. And he pays them no mind; simply waits, and Kagami knows, the way he and Aomine sometimes seem to _know_ each other, that he’s waiting for _him_.

He gathers himself to his feet as his vision clears, and over the ringing in his ears he hears the cries of the crowd around them strike up their terrible tune once more.

(He hadn’t realised they’d stopped.)

And then, his world falls silent.

(Outside it, the crowd roars on and on, but he doesn’t hear.)

Aomine’s turning to face him now. It’s a scene Kagami’s seen many times over many fights over the years, but this time it’s different.

This time, there’s an empty space at his back, where his second blade –the one that made him a legend –would usually rest. 

This time, when he faces him, he does so with a dangerous glint in his eye that even after all this time, Kagami has never seen before, and a sword in each hand.

 

* * *

 

(“ _Finally_ ,” Aomine whispers, as he sees Kagami rise; sword in hand, and his voice sounds ashy, and thick, and breathless. “…I can fight a little more seriously.”)

 

* * *

 

The air shifts –Aomine lets it; controls it –lets his magic seep out into the world and bring the air to life. He breathes deep, and savours it; and Kagami mirrors him.

 _He feels it too._  

_Good._

Kagami watches him, enthralled, and fire rises up from beneath him and in his eyes; dripping with anticipation.

He looks excited.

(Aomine thinks that just maybe, he might share the sentiment. Just a little.)

Lightning rises; curls around his wrists, and the blades in his hands glow blue, and crackle and spark as it dances up their lengths.

 _It’s been a long time_. he muses, testing his grip; measuring the weight of his old friend.

(It fits just like it used to –feels just like it always did.)

Even after all this time –after all the years he’s spent carrying it –stunting himself; holding himself back –he remembers it. It’s his weapon; of course he does. 

He hasn’t drawn it since the day he realised he didn’t need to, but now it’s back in his hand –where it belongs –and after years of watching, and waiting, it is yearning to fight once again.

“Let’s see what you can do,” Aomine drawls vehemently, as something wild begins to brew behind his eyes, and feeds magic into the bolts enveloping his blades; lets them grow writhe, and sing. Static builds in the air as magic flows from him –endless and daunting. It charges the air; churns the breeze, and wreathes him in an ethereal glow like some kind of otherworldly king.

Aomine Daiki is powerful, and it’s been a long time since the world has seen just how much so.

(Kagami can’t wait to find out.)

And suddenly, as he unleashes a bolt –blue, and mightier than those that fall from the heavens, Aomine can’t wait to show him.

“ _Entertain me, Kagami_!”

 

* * *

 

The Arena erupts into flames. 

Columns upon columns of flames erupt from the earth around them; shooting pillars into the sky and casting the world in red and gold. They rise like great serpents that dwell in dark places, and roar as they clash with lightning, and swallow it whole. And then, greedy, and drawn by the taste –the strength –of his magic, it comes for him.

And Aomine stares, and feeds his lightning –makes it hotter; more electric –more devastatingly destructive. But the fire, undaunted, grows too, and suddenly it’s all around him.

It’s a wild thing, fire. Its hunger is unparalleled, and its wrath a thing of beauty. Everything it touches it desires so wholly that it cannot help but consume it. And these flames desire Aomine. They scorch the earth wherever they roam; climb up his boots and his blades and pay his lightning no mind as they burn on and on at their master’s bidding.

And through the flames, Aomine sees him. The inferno rages on around him; cloaking him –crowning him; smoking at his armour and breathing embers onto his skin, but leaving his flesh unmarked. In the firelight, his eyes gleam red, and he raises his hand –commanding the beast of a creature he’s created; commands it to burn.

And burn, Aomine does.

 _Not possible_ , he breathes, and his lightning shatters.

 

* * *

 

 _What is this feeling_?

 

* * *

"I don’t mind entertaining you,” Kagami tells him, so seriously, as Aomine smoulders in the aftermath of the firestorm –clothes charred beyond recognition, and welts blistering into his skin where the flames have carved their marks. “If you think you can afford to take it that easy.”

It’s a challenge.

And as Kagami strides towards him with thunder in his eyes –resolute, and unyielding, Aomine finds that it’s one he relishes. He’s untouched by the flames –if anything they’ve polished him; like how a river polishes rock –leaving him glistening in the low light, and the air around him, as he moves, shimmers with magic; the kind strong enough to face even his own.

It fills him with anticipation, for he knows now the kind of blood-burning heat it can carry –that it can summon –but also because he remembers its touch, and how it breathed life into his hollow self. It’s dangerous, he knows, but he’s drawn to it nonetheless –wants to reach out and touch it, even if it burns him when he gets too close.

Perhaps that’s what makes it so thrilling.

(After all, isn’t that thrill what he’s craved the most?)

 _Show me, Kagami,_ he thinks to himself once more as he takes his turn at rising from the ashes; a blade adorned with lightning in each hand. _Show me everything_.

And thus their fight truly begins.

All the world watches, enthralled.

And Kagami can’t help but be one of them, for Aomine fights like the lightning he so favours –swift, and elegant, and equally intense. He was incredible in his own right with one blade, but with two –well, Kagami’s never seen anyone move quite like him. It’s almost _graceful_ –the two blades moving in tandem in an ever-changing rhythm.

It’s always been his style, he thinks, as they duel; controlling their pace –leading their dance. He’s like the wind, like that –blowing this way and that; patient and deliberate one moment and then a rising typhoon the next. No two fights of theirs are ever quite the same.

And now, it’s like he’s fighting an entirely new foe. Fighting a man who wields one weapon expertly is one thing, and rare is it who can even proficiently handle two.

And Aomine…

Aomine is _incredible_.

He’s always been fast, but now it’s like he’s found his wings, and the wind sweeps him up and carries him wherever he desires. Little more than a blur in the ring, he flies at him without missing a single beat; blades glinting, and each movement flowing into the next so seamlessly that he can barely tell where one weapon ends and the other begins. Kagami is no mere swordsman, and yet it’s suddenly taking every ounce of focus he has to keep up –wherever he strikes, there’s a blade to parry him, and a second lying in wait to trap him and bite him wherever it lands.

And if he’s too late meeting him –if he slips up; misses a step –all he sees is a flash of light, and the briefest glimpse of blue eyes, and then there is pain and blood as those twin blades cut red lines into his flesh and pierce his skin with barbs of lightning.

But although his skin stings –although there is blood pouring down his face, and it aches where raw wounds have opened up on him, he persists, because this – _this_ is the Aomine he’s always desired to fight –the one he must defeat. So no matter where those blades come from –no matter how fast, or how tricky to block they are, he turns them aside.

It’s exhausting.

And _invigorating_.

And Aomine?

Aomine feels _alive_. There’s adrenaline surging in his blood and it urges him on. It feels good. It feels _natural_ , like this is the way he was born to be. He flickers across the earth, never lingering in one spot long; moving like a wraith in the shadows, and leaving Kagami dizzy and dancing and frantically fighting to stay on his feet.

He’s on the back foot again, but doesn’t fall, and Aomine presses on with baited breath. He wants to see how far he can go –how far Kagami will go with him –how hard he can push, and how hard Kagami will push back. Something about him drew out that second sword of his –some _power_ that had rattled the shackles he’d bound himself with, calling to him.

Fighting has always come naturally to him, so he lets his instincts lead him, and the edges of his swords start to come away bloodier each time as his relentless attacks start to wear Kagami down. But in the scheme of things they’re just scratches, and Kagami lunges for him with renewed vigour, and Aomine’s eyes gleam as that cleaver catches him off guard and tears a hole in his side that weeps.

It stings, and the strike seems to have given Kagami confidence, because the next comes down on him out of nowhere, and with such force that Aomine barely manages to catch it in time. It takes both of his blades, too, and the instant he’s been forced back, Kagami is on him again like a toppling mountain. Once more, the clashing of their blades beats out a metallic song –one of blood and war –to serenade the Arena, but there’s another sound there; something roaring in Aomine’s head; erratic, and out of time, and the corners of his lips rise as he realises that the drumming he’s hearing –that pulsing that he’s feeling in his ears and in his veins is the racing of his own heart.

“ _I’m sure that one day, Aomine-kun, you’ll find someone more incredible than yourself.”_

It’s Tetsu’s voice he hears in his head, and before he knows it, he’s grinning, and the light behind his eyes bursts forth so bright and brilliant it’s blinding. There’s magic brewing in the air now –and it’s the old, powerful magic that was never meant to be contained, so they don’t try to stop it. It’s filling him; calling to him, the way magic used to before he grew accustomed to its voice, and he doesn’t know if it’s Kagami’s or his own, but whatever has been slumbering within him hears it’s call, and is drawn to it.

 _Tetsu, are you watching_? He thinks to himself, as storm clouds, heralded by thunder, gather overhead, and fire and lightning begin to brew in his blood. And when Kagami’s flames –those ones so brilliant and burning and as blinding as the sun, come down on him upon a flaming sword, something catches fire in his heart.

It’s hot, and bright, and feels a little like joy.

_Thank you, Tetsu._

The power in Aomine’s blood hears him call, and as lightning splits the heavens, summoned to earth at his command, it wakes.

And it is _magnificent_.

Old magic is the purest, and the most beautiful, so they say; the kind once wielded by gods. Over millennia it had grown rare; almost forgotten. But whispers in old places, and at hushed firesides in the deep darknesses of the world, say there are still Heroes –ones who are destined for greatness beyond measure –who carry it within them, and who can call upon strength, and power that normal men can only ever dream of.

Lightning flashes in the Arena, and Kagami’s sword goes hurtling out of his hand.

Pain flares up in his arm as it’s wrenched in its socket, and he stumbles off balance.

It’s probably what saves his life, because an instant later, materialising out of nowhere, a blade, pulsing with an electric blue heartbeat, misses his throat by a mere breath; leaving the air hissing in its wake. And all he catches a glimpse of is a pair of wild, sparking blue eyes before he’s bodily flung across the Arena once again.

He can’t afford to stay down though, because as soon as he stirs, a shadow appears overhead, and steel is raining down on him. He rolls once, twice, and manages to scramble to his feet before they land –only to feel a piercing, biting pain as lightning shocks him from behind; setting his nerves screaming and bowling him clean off his feet.

 _What’s happening_?

He needs his sword.

Blue appears across his vision, then blurs as the tip of a blade slices clean through his leather armour and deep into the muscle of his shoulder beneath. The next he catches on his bracers by a sheer miracle, and it’s only the heat of the flames he summons that forces Aomine off him and lets him keep his hand attached.

He fans the flames with magic; lets them engulf him and burn as hot as he can withstand while he tries to regain his balance.

 _Aomine_?

He’s never seen him move so fast. 

Scratch that. This time, he didn’t even see him move. He was there one second and gone the next, and…

_Ah._

His shoulder throbs, and he grimaces; hand rising to press against the wound. It smarts, and his fingers comes away bloody, but that’s the least of his immediate concerns. He’s unarmed now –his sword lying useless far beyond reach –and there’s no way his flames alone, no matter how hot he commands them to burn, will keep Aomine at bay for long. Not the way he moves; not with how he _feels_.

Aomine has always felt strong –it’s one of the things that had always spurred Kagami to fight him –but this is in a completely different league. He _exudes_ power, and the energy in the air makes his skin tingle where it touches, and makes the flames he’s summoned to the world flicker. And beyond his shroud of fire, he sees him, shimmering like a ghostly mirage against the night. 

And although Kagami is the one encased in flames, it’s Aomine who lights up the night.

He finds that he can’t look away, because in that moment, he seems like the brightest thing in all the world. There’s a heavenly glow about him, and sparks dancing in his eyes –like some power is illuminating him from within; chasing away the shadows of the night and bringing light into a dark world. There’s magic on the wind, and errant coils of lightning dance about him like wisps, and in the air, pinpricks of light swirl around him in constellations of a thousand tiny stars.

It’s breath-taking, and he hates that he can’t help but regard him with awe.

That’s when the wind changes, and with it, the delicate balance they’ve been treading.

Aomine shifts, and Kagami, hypnotised, can only stare as he vanishes in an almighty crack of thunder, and when he next sees him, suspended above him in mid-air with no fear of the flames –he looks like lightning crossing the sky, and his blades are blue and brilliant, like a pair of bolts descending to earth. They hiss, and chatter as they rend through his walls of flame, and Kagami is knocked clean off his feet all over again from the sheer force of the electrical discharge that follows.

Aomine meets him in mid-air, with eyes blind to the world but for him, and blazing like the moon on a clear night. And it’s ice, and stone, this time –conjured up over his heart out of magic and nothing –that saves him. It’s crude, and not his finest work –dimly, he remembers how appalling Midorima had always found his grasp of this kind of magic –but it shields him from being skewered. He hasn’t escaped him completely though, because although the ice is thick, and the stone hard, Aomine’s swords are charged with a magic made to shape the world in his design, and the tip of one still carves a deep groove into his chest.

It’s pure agony.

But by the time he finally crashes back to earth, it feels numb.

Staggering to his feet is harder this time, and almost as soon as he’s up he finds himself rolling in ashes again as Aomine batters against his guard; shattering ice and stone and cutting through wind and fire and anything Kagami can throw up to defend himself. His sword is glinting dully at the edge of his vision, but as he coughs up a lungful of ash once more, he knows it’s not enough. Even if it makes it back to his hand, Aomine is too fast, and his magic so overwhelmingly strong. He’s trying, _gods_ he’s trying, but anything he throws at him just gets batted down, or broken.

An explosion rattles the Arena, and he grimaces in pain as his back slams violently into its stone walls. Black spots dance across his gaze and the world blurs, but he flings himself aside without thinking –he doesn’t need to see the blade to know that Aomine will strike while he’s pinned.

Both swords soar past him, and bury themselves deep within the stone. It gives him but a moment to catch his breath, and then he’s backpedalling across the Arena all over again.

( _Pathetic_ , he thinks, howling in frustration as he urges the magic within him to life; demands it to lend him more strength. It can’t. It’s already burnt too hot, for too long, and it’s starting to hurt now; the way it had hurt when he had drained himself of it –forced it from his veins even when there was nothing left.)

_I can’t win like this._

It’s frustrating, and he’s angry at himself, for still being so weak.

He’s bleeding again, (still), and he’s lost track of where it’s coming from. But for all the wounds he’s sustained, Aomine has yet to land a decisive blow, and until he does ( _if_ he does), Kagami intends to fight on. There’s a chill taking root within him –that haunting, hollow cold that dogs the dead, and although it’s soft, and far-off, it’s there, and he wants no part of it. If that cold creeps into his bones in a hundred years it will be too soon; he’s not ready to succumb to death.

(He’s destined for greatness. He’s always known it; felt it in his heart and in his blood.)

So he channels magic into his flames, draining himself dry to fuel them; to keep the cold at bay. And so the fire burns hotter, and brighter, and pain rockets along his nerves, because as strong as his magic is, and for all he holds inside him, it’s not nearly enough. But he holds his head high, and his eyes gleam as ferociously as ever –even as flecks of blue dart around the edges of his vision, because if he doubts his own strength then he will fall.

And he did not come to the Arena to die.

 (Drums strike up a beat in his blood, and they sound like thunder. 

 _I can’t let it end like this_.

 _I_ won’t _let it end like this._

He staggers again, and falls to one knee. It’s an odd sensation, for his head to feel so light, and his body to feel so heavy. There’s blood running off his chin and dripping down his chest, and beading on his arms, and as it spills upon the ground it hisses, like it’s scalding the earth wherever it falls. If he doesn’t move, and fast –doesn’t take up his sword –then he’s finished, and his heart churns because he was so sure that this was his time.

And Aomine is moving again. Kagami can feel his gaze; can feel his aura as it changes the air like a force of nature, and knows beyond all doubt that he’s only an instant away from striking. And he doesn’t intend to miss.  And Kagami’s heart churns because he knows that this was not how this fight was supposed to go.

 

* * *

 

They say that before it was a monster, the Arena was a stage upon which a man’s fate was decided.

What most don’t realise is that it is the man himself, not the Arena, that decides his fate.

 

* * *

 

(It just lays the choice at his feet.) 

And to Kagami, it offers him his sword.

The rest is up to him; to either let it lie, and let his story end here, or to take it up, and carve his way with his own hands. 

For Kagami, there’s no choice.

This has always been his path.

(In his heart, he’s always known that his journey leads far beyond this place.)

So when he spies his sword waiting for him; gathering dust where it last fell, he feels something calling to him; and it sounds like it’s coming from within.

 _It’s not over_.  

Not yet.

His body feels broken, but when he commands it to move, it does. And he drowns out the pain, and all its protests, and lets the storm rising in his blood build, and rage on as he staggers to his feet once more, because he refuses to let it end like this. And the wind in the Arena starts to stir, and flames, born from the scattered ashes of the earth, start to lick at his ankles, and climb.

After all, he’d promised. He promised Kuroko –promised _himself_ –that he was not going to let it end like this. Not again. Aomine was not going to leave him for dead ever again.

This was not where his story was going to end.

_This is only the beginning._

 

* * *

 

Aomine has been fighting all his life. There have been men, and monsters uncounted; great, and small –many of them in this very ring. He has fought creatures of nightmares, and servants of darkness, and beasts both mighty, and ancient. So many, in fact, that despite their splendour, when he looked upon them, he felt nothing. 

He never thought he would find someone –an opponent –who could fill his heart with wonder again.

But tonight, he learns that he was wrong.

Tonight, when he’s at his very strongest –with the magic of the old world awakened in his blood; where he fights and breathes upon a plane above that of mere mortals, his blade meets a sword that radiates the kind of magic that makes his entire body pulse. A note, clear and pure, rings out as they clash, and in his chest, his heart stops.

And then, when he finds himself staring into bright eyes that dance with wild, red sparks, he understands, and his heart soars, and all he can think is that of all the creatures that he has ever faced, Kagami Taiga is the brightest, and most magnificent.

(He understands now, what has been calling to him, and what he’s been drowning out for years –that there’s a door within him that leads to a kind of power the likes of which Albion has all but forgotten. It lets him tread in shadows; on currents of magic as they shift in the air; flitting to and fro in flashes of light. It’s a state of being where he is god; where his slightest movement changes the very fabric of the world, and mortals could never hope to conquer.

Kagami shouldn’t have stood a chance. His body was breaking; his magic diminishing. He shouldn’t have been able to stop him.

And yet, there’s a sword pressed tight against his; red, and bright with magic that feels as old and as invigorating as that which flows through Aomine.

He now understands, also, that he is not the only one the old magic calls to.)

It’s his turn to go flying.

It feels good.

He feels free, like he’s slipping out of the chains that have bound him at last, and free to fly to his heart’s content. So he lets himself fall –lets himself stare as flames burn low upon the ground and Kagami emerges from them, bright and blazing and crowned in a halo of fire. It _glistens_ like rays of sunlight, and turn their world red. _Their world_ , he thinks, because suddenly it feels like they are all that exists in the world. Beyond the ring there is nothing but shadow, and above them, only the stars, and the moon hanging amongst them.

Here, the atmosphere is charged with magic, and time ceases to exist. And Aomine lets the ground call him back to earth like a falling star. And as he falls, lighting swirls around him, and discharges into the air and shatters the red night with brilliant streaks of blue. He lands light upon his feet, and is striking again almost as soon as he touches back down, and Kagami is there to meet him with his sword unwavering and wildfire burning in his eyes. And he beats him back, and makes him dance, and Aomine grins because this is the kind of fight his young heart had always dreamed of.

Lightning and fire rise up around them, and their blades cut the air; sing when they meet, and mourn when they part. Aomine finds his body moving in ways it hasn’t in years –stretching old muscles and reaching new heights; ushered onwards and up by the certainty that no matter how fast he moves or how strong he strikes, Kagami will keep up. The wind picks up flurries of ash, and the storm clouds rolling in across the sky rumble and blot out the night, but they make their own stars. 

And they dance, with sparks in their eyes. It’s a different tune this time –more vibrant; more carefree –and like shooting stars they light up the night. The world beyond them looks on, enthralled. It’s a show the Arena hasn’t seen since the days when it itself was still young at heart, and still cherished valour, and a beautiful fight. And it is truly breath-taking to behold. Aomine Daiki was always magnificent and terrible, but tonight he’s _radiant_ , and once again, the world watches him in awe; mesmerised, because nothing so beautiful could ever truly be called _monster_.

And the man –the Hero –he faces, shines just as bright.

They’re magnetic; two unstoppable forces pitted against one another, pushing and pulling in turn. Maybe on some level it’s always been that way –forcing each other away; beating each other back; but always, _always_ drawn back to one another; sparks jumping between them. Aomine feels it, on his skin and in his blood, when Kagami comes too close, and longs to feel it again when he lurches beyond reach –and he thinks that Kagami feels it too.  

It makes him feel _alive_.

So he chases him. This is their world now –a world of nothing but magic and swords and each other. All else ceases to exist, because right now; nothing else matters. Aomine lets himself drown in the fight; focuses on nothing but Kagami, because there are marks on his body now –ones that bleed, and smart –that warn him of what the outcome might be should his concentration waver, and urge him (drive him) to fight harder. Kagami is never far beyond reach, but his defences are set high and unbreakable, and the brute force with which he swings his cleaver to shatter through Aomine’s guard could rend mountains.

It’s not enough to break him. Aomine knew he was strong, but _this_ –what he’s feeling now, is beyond anything he’s ever imagined. They dart and weave like bobbing wisps at play, blades clashing with destructive force time and time again and remaining steady, and when light bursts forth from Aomine’s eyes and lightning spills from his blades, he laughs, because Kagami has drawn this out of him.

He’s everything Tetsu had said he would be, and more.

 

* * *

 

And suddenly, in whirlwind of heat, a landslide given human form comes raining down upon him. It's indomitable, and bone crushing, and his world turns red, and he feels himself burning, in flames as brilliant and blinding as the sun.

He realises too late, that he can't stop it, and his arm, straining wildly against the force of nature bearing down on him, breaks.

(One of his swords goes flying.)

It's more than broken, he realises distantly, when he tries to take up his second sword in both hands and finds that it a useless effort. It’s shattered, and it’s _agonising,_ and it's taking everything he has not to scream his pain for the world to see. He lets it hang limply at his side, and readies his other blade to parry Kagami's next strike. It comes up in time, but the shockwaves that ripple through him as the blades clash jostle his broken bones and leave him grinding his teeth. But even with a broken arm, he's swift and strong, and if Kagami wants to force him to the floor then he will not go quietly. 

For all the pain tearing apart his body right now, he couldn’t be happier.

And even as he burns –even as that cleaver rises up from the ground like the rising sun, and sends his second sword arcing up high across the sky, his heart sings, because Tetsu promised. 

_Tetsu promised I’d find you._

* * *

Aomine has never wondered what his death would look like.

You had to be mortal, to die, after all, and before this day, he’s never quite felt human.

He never thought it would be quite so bright.

They talk about death being cold, and dark, but there are spots of light dotting his vision as the sparks in his eyes fizzle out, and he feels almost feverish. Maybe it’s the fires, smouldering around him, or the gaping wound Kagami’s hewn into his chest that splits his torso from navel to collarbone.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Death is death.

The world is coming back into focus now –the stands and the crowds becoming clearer once again as his magic drains away with his blood. His head is ringing; pressed hard against the stone wall that had broken his fall, but he can hear them again now, and the name they’re calling isn’t his.

The Arena knows no loyalty, after all. All it loves, is blood. And today it feasts on his. He’s been its keeper for years, and yet it laps it up as it pours from his chest and drains away into the earth. The armour guarding his chest has been torn right through, and when he looks down he grimaces, because it now makes sense why it hurts so much; why his body, as strong as it is, now refuses to budge. Even if it did, what would he do? His swords are gone –scattered to the wind; the bones of his right arm are in pieces, and his magic is deserting him; utterly, utterly spent. Trying to summon up even the smallest spark feels like dragging needles through his veins.

Kagami doesn’t look like he’s faring much better. His armour is cracked, his clothing hanging off him in rags, and there doesn’t look to be a patch of skin on him that isn’t caked with blood.

But he’s the one still standing –the one limping towards him on seizing legs, with his sword supporting him as a crutch. One of his eyes is almost swollen shut, and there’s a lightning burn –still sparking –cascading down his throat, but he’s still marching on like there’s still a fight to win.

Aomine almost laughs, and gags as blood rises in his throat. He’s not going anywhere. Not on this earth, at least. And with each step towards him, Kagami seems to understand that just that little bit more. So do the crowd. They cheer for him –egg him on, and call for blood the way they used to ask it of Aomine –and the commentator goads them on. He talks of glory and gold beyond measure, and of the title _Champion_ that all Heroes covet, and tells Kagami, before the world, to slay his final enemy, and claim them.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them, there’s a shape standing over him; illuminated against the flames and the stars. It’s ironic in that it’s usually Aomine on his feet, peering down at some sorry, broken bastard who thought he ruled the world.

He can’t say he likes it.

Kagami straightens up –staggers, once, as he levers himself off his sword, and then manages to hold steady. There’s something unreadable in his face, and Aomine’s not sure he likes that either, and has to look away.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks, and hates how breathless and pitiful his voice comes out. It hitches at the end, and rattles, like his lungs would rather he didn’t speak. “…Go ahead,” he taunts, pressing his good hand against his belly so that his last words don’t come out quite so choked. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he wants to –he really wants to –because if he is to die here, he’d rather he be looking up at something beautiful, with the warmth of a good memory still flooding his heart.

“…It’s your win.”

(He sounds peaceful, and wretched.)

_Defeated._

_It was a good fight_ , he wants to say, but even now, he’s too proud. And it’s the truth, and that makes his heart weep, just a little, because how could the world give him everything he’d ever dreamed of, and make it so beautiful, and then just snatch it all away? 

(He doesn’t want to die.)

But instead of striking, and ending this once and for all, Kagami _scoffs_.

It's...anticlimactic, to say the least.

“Tch, why are you talking like it’s over?” he huffs, and Aomine’s eyes flutter open again to find him looking about as irritated by him as he usually does; as though the fact that he’s still standing and Aomine’s bleeding out on the ground is nothing too out of the ordinary for them. He’s scowling, like Aomine’s said something particularly stupid, and snorts flatly, “I’ll take you on anywhere, anytime.”

Aomine stares at him.

(He doesn’t realise it, but his eyes shimmer infinitesimally.)

There’s no hesitation in the way that Kagami sheathes his sword –as though his mind had been made up long ago about how this fight was going to end. The hand he extends to Aomine, however, is a thousand times more reluctant, and his lip curls into a disgruntled, poorly-disguised pout as he grumbles, “I still have a hundred beatings to pay you back for.”

Aomine doesn’t understand why he’s not dead; why there’s a hand reaching out to him. It had never really crossed his mind that Kagami might actually defeat him; let alone let him live, if he ever did. He’d _broken_ him in all but spirit the last time they’d fought here –buried his sword in his gut and left him to die.

 _I could have killed you_ , he thinks, as he stares up into Kagami’s face.

 _But you didn’t_ , his steady expression reads back, and that's enough to make the corners of his mouth rise just so.

(Kagami's never believed that he was a monster.)  

“A hundred, you say…” Aomine murmurs, batting away the proffered hand and chuckling despite the agony that tears through his body, “…I think it’s more like a thousand.”  

He makes it to one knee before Kagami kicks his feet out from under him for his smart mouth.

(He lands hard on his bad arm and it hurts like nothing else, but later on, while he's nursing his wounds and his pride, and rowdy celebrations in the tavern below rock the foundations of the inn, Tetsu will tell him he probably deserved it. And because he knows that Tetsu is usually right, Aomine won't disagree.)

“Fine,” Kagami finally relents, as Aomine glares up at him the way he used to when they were kids, and although his red eyes narrow, there’s a curl to his lip like he’s trying to hide a grin, “A thousand, then.”

This time, Aomine catches what he really means.

 _You’re saying…we can fight again_?

This time, when he offers his hand, Aomine takes it.

It’s warm, and a bit sweaty, but it’s firm, and strong, and feels like a promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was gonna be dumb and cheesy. But I enjoyed writing these big dummies, so I hope you kinda liked reading them. And now that Aomine's realised that Kagami can offer him everything he's ever wanted, maybe they can start falling in love. How does that sound? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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